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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019970">Almost Comical</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam'>incorrectbatfam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics), The Flash - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Real World, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Enchanted (2007), M/M, Meta, Multiverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:54:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Reyes is a dentist's assistant trying to make sense of the real world and let go of his childhood fantasies.</p><p>Bart Allen is a comic book superhero who was supposed to stay that way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bart Allen &amp; Iris West, Bart Allen &amp; Thaddeus Thawne, Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jaime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/National_Nobody/gifts">National_Nobody</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since this AU is based on comic canon, I’m using approximate canon ages and age gaps, so Bart is around 23 and Jaime is 25.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> The sky shook. The atmosphere ignited with the heat of a thousand suns. Every molecule, every atom charged with static electricity, bearing the fury of ten atomic bombs.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Scarlet stained the wilting grass like ink blemishing a failed exam, dripping from a gash along Impulse’s hairline. Swirling around him was the essence of his power—the Speed Force. Once a tsunami of pure energy, it was naught but a receding riptide. Clutching his side, he swallowed the molten copper taste in his mouth and wiped the sweat off his brow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Inertia cackled.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why so stunned, brother?” he taunted, fist charged with a ball of lightning, his snake-like shadow slinking across the ground with every step. “Coming from the future, you know there’s only one way this will end. Surrender yourself and I might make this painless.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tangled copper locks fell in front of his face as Impulse forced himself onto his feet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Not in a million years!” he shouted. “Central City needs me. I’ll protect her with everything I got!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Inertia’s sickeningly sinister grin widened as he planted his foot on the cracked ground. “Too bad it won’t be for long.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> BANG! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like a silver arrow sailing through the sky, a white-hot beam ripped through flesh, cartilage, and bone faster than a blink of an eye. A crimson waterfall gushed onto the parched soil. A scream slashed the air. Clutching his knee, Inertia hit the ground disgracefully. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Impulse whirled around to meet the glimmering eyes of his savior. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Blue Beetle! You saved my life!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blue Beetle blew on the smoking plasma cannon, grinning. “All in a day’s work, hermoso.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The cannon retracted as Impulse threw himself into the arms of his dashing savior.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How can I ever repay you?” asked the speedster. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mask retracting from his face, Blue Beetle replied, a low purr emanating from his throat, “How about a kiss?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Impulse swooned. “I’ll do anything for you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their faces moved closer. Blue Beetle closed his eyes, already feeling the energy, the unadulterated passion. The space between them shrunk to a hair’s width. This was it. This was the moment he’s been waiting for. The reason he became a hero. The reason he took on the scarab and the Blue Beetle mantle— </em>
</p><p>
  <b>BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.</b>
</p><p>Sharp pain shot through the back of Jaime’s skull as it collided with the headboard. As he glared at the offending device, he slapped the snooze button and rolled to the cooler side of his bed. He tossed aside the drool-covered pillow, which he was <em>not </em>kissing seconds before. Legs entwined with the blanket, Jaime squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to be transported back inside the wonderful, wonderful dream.</p><p>No such luck. </p><p>Jaime cursed. </p><p>
  <em> Every. Single. Time. </em>
</p><p>There was no falling back asleep, not with the bright light streaming through his blinds and cars honking four floors below. But he didn’t want to get up either. Why would he? Just to fast-track getting to work early and spending more time trapped within four miserable beige walls?</p><p>Jaime rolled over again and yanked open the top drawer of his nightstand. </p><p>“<em>Buenos días</em>, Fastest Man Alive.”</p><p>He could’ve picked his first-edition Wonder Woman or signed copy of Red Hood and the Outlaws, both of which laid in the drawer next to his stretchy rubber El Dorado action figure. But no.</p><p>Jaime thumbed through the laminated pages, the corners worn from countless flips. He chuckled as Bart Allen—Impulse, Kid Flash, the Flash—dropped another one of his signature quips; one that Jaime has read twenty times now and could recite by heart. Jaime shifted onto his stomach, head in his hands, daydreaming of what it’d be like to be in those panels. What he wouldn’t give to live one day as a superhero.</p><p>
  <b>BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.</b>
</p><p>With a disgusted groan, Jaime straight-up unplugged the Green Lantern alarm clock. He shivered as his feet touched the cold carpet. It wasn’t even the right <em>type </em>of cold; it warped as he shuffled to the bathroom, leaving his soles clammy and toes frostbitten. At least Killer Frost had the decency to freeze things uniformly.</p><p>Brush. </p><p>Shave. </p><p>Shower. </p><p>Comb. </p><p>Make a mental reminder to get a haircut—one that he’ll forget. </p><p>Put on clothes. </p><p>Try not to think too much. </p><p>Thoughts led to emotions.</p><p>Better to stay on autopilot. </p><p>Autopilot got things done.</p><p>The coffee brewed, steadily drip, drip, dripping into the pot, infusing the apartment with a bitter roasted smell. Even with the thermostat cranked up to the highest and the curtains pulled open, the kitchen felt like a sinister underground laboratory, except instead of brains in jars and suspicious gizmos, Jaime had Kmart kitchenware and not-spicy pickles. A single Harley Quinn fridge magnet was all he had to brighten up the place. </p><p>Jaime glanced at a sticker-covered spiral-bound notebook sitting on the center island, staring up at him like a forlorn child. </p><p>“<em>Por favor</em>, not again,” he pleaded.</p><p>But the stickers were relentless. Batwoman’s face carried betrayal; Alfred Pennyworth’s, disappointment. Beast Boy transformed into the cutest green puppy and begged on his paws and knees. Ted Kord looked almost defeated, as did Michael Carter. And <em> Impulse</em>. Big, round tears flooded his tinted goggles. That was all it took to make Jaime snatch the journal and slip it into his bag. The heroes rejoiced.</p><p>He swore next time he won’t cling to it like a teddy bear. </p><p>Not even bothering with cream and sugar, Jaime guzzled the coffee, wincing as it scalded his throat and left a sour aftertaste. He set the mug in the empty sink.</p><p>Jaime pulled his jacket close and stepped into the foggy morning, dodging a biker who didn’t bother to use a bell. Adjusting his bag, he made his way to the bus stop.</p><p>On his phone, he skimmed through the three new emails from his boss—what’s with employers bugging people outside work?—before switching to what he thought was a far more important page. A smile formed on his face when he saw three new comments on his Impulse fanfiction.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>[this is adorable :D can’t wait to see what’s next]</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>[Ngl dude, you got me shipping Impulse and Blue Beetle now. What should their ship name be? Speedbuggy? Bluepulse? I like the sound of Bluepulse]</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>[OMG PLZ UPDATE!!!]</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>[Wait, I’m confused. Is Blue Beetle a new superhero? I keep seeing him everywhere and people pairing him with Impulse.]</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Jaime replied to the last one</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>[This version of Blue Beetle isn’t canon. He’s an original character of mine who became super popular, though I’m not sure why.]</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>The crunching of oversized tires against gravel yanked him back to reality. He sighed. Back on autopilot, it was.</p><p>Pay the fare.</p><p>Give the only available seat to an old lady.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>And wait.</p><p>He <em>could </em>start a conversation with the guy wearing a Joker t-shirt, but the guy had headphones and was reading a book. Plus, Jaime didn’t trust Joker fans.</p><p>Jaime stifled a yawn, resisting the urge to check social media again. He had a full day ahead and needed all the battery power he could get. </p><p>Work. Lunch with Mamá. Evening classes. Somewhere in there is a bathroom break. </p><p>Jaime hopped off at the next stop.</p><p>
  <em> “Hic.” </em>
</p><p>Great. Just what he needed.</p><p>As though his morning couldn’t get worse, the first thing Jaime’s boss said when he entered was, “Janet went into labor last night so we need someone to fill in at the front desk.”</p><p>Jaime plastered on a smile and gave a thumbs-up. But inside, he was banging his head against the wall. <em> Of course, </em> he wound up with the boringest of boringly boring tasks.</p><p>“‘Atta boy.” His boss clapped him on the back.</p><p>Jaime wanted to say, <em> “Quit treating me like a kid, I’m freaking twenty-five”</em>, but he couldn’t risk the only decent-paying job he had. So he pulled up the squeaky swivel chair, booted up the computer, and removed Janet’s nameplate. He glanced around the waiting room. A headgear-wearing preteen was taking selfies on her tablet, as though she was at a boardwalk rather than a dentist’s office. Two toddlers scribbled on coloring sheets and a third was pressing her face against the fish tank, all while their mother flipped through the old home improvement magazines with minimal interest. An old man had fallen fast asleep, snores echoing throughout the room. NBC played on the grainy TV screen; the sounds were nothing but static buzzing aimlessly like mosquitos with nothing to bite.</p><p>Between check-ins and phone calls and hiccups and sips of water, Jaime opened an incognito tab and logged onto the DC Comics forum, only to log back out when he saw the number of queries in his ask box, whispering “not today” under his breath. Why did he agree to be a mod again?</p><p>At half-past noon, the next front desk person arrived and Jaime could punch out. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to his coworkers as threw on his jacket and jogged to the quaint café down the street to meet his mother. The sky was marginally brighter; dark clouds still blanketed the sky like apocalyptic ash. Once again, Jaime wondered how his life ended up like this. </p><p>After finding a seat, placing his order, and ignoring the server’s Instagram handle written on a napkin, Jaime checked his phone. The novel-length text from his mother summed up to: she was going to be late. </p><p>Jaime vaguely acknowledged the cappuccino and croissant sandwich placed in front of him as he fished the notebook out of his bag and flipped to an unfinished drawing. One look and Jaime remembered why his followers left more likes on his writing. The body was disproportionate; the limbs were awkwardly angled, and <em> what the heck </em>was he doing with the shading? If he had the money, he’d commission someone to draw his self-insert Blue Beetle, but until then…</p><p>He took a bite of the sandwich. Right away he could tell that the tastelessness was psychological, considering it had a decent amount of chili sauce inside. </p><p>Jaime ran his hand over his face. It must be one of <em>those </em>days—except he’s been having "those days" since he graduated high school.</p><p>He turned to another page labeled “plot ideas”, with bullet points running down it in tiny cursive handwriting. Jaime had them all memorized by this point—a Booster Gold one-shot, three Batfamily drabbles, a Lois Lane character study, and thirty-three Impulse and Blue Beetle fanfics. Jaime put “domestic fluff with a happy ending” on the list, which may or may not have drawn inspiration from the couple at the other table sipping hot chocolate while talking about the future.</p><p>“I see you’re still reading your cartoons.”</p><p>Jaime looked up to meet his mother’s warm brown eyes. There was no anger in her voice, but fondness laced with drops of disappointment.</p><p>“They’re called comics, Mamá, not cartoons,” Jaime corrected.</p><p>She smiled sadly, shaking her head. “Oh, <em> mijo</em>, when are you going to be mature? Not that you’ll never stop being my little boy, but still…”</p><p>“I’m going to school, I have a job, and I live on my own. That’s, like, the <em> definition </em> of mature.”</p><p>His mother shook her head. “There’s more to maturity than that. For starters, mature people can love something without obsessing over it.” She gestured to the notebook.</p><p>“Please don’t tell me we’re gonna spend the entire time talking about this.”</p><p>She laughed. “Of course not. I wanted to show you an embarrassing photo of your father from the other day.”</p><p>After a satisfying lunch and a “see you later” to his mother, Jaime double-checked his schedule to make sure he was headed to the right classes because Mondays-Wednesdays-Fridays was biochemistry and medical ethics while Tuesdays and Thursdays meant anatomy and working on his thesis with his professor (though he needed to make sense of the jumbled lab data first). It didn’t look like much, but it was enough to give Jaime a headache. Where was the ibuprofen when he needed it? At least he knew he was going to the right building (unlike the first week, when he sat through an entire quantum physics lecture). </p><p>He envied the people his age who were doing exciting things like traveling to Europe and writing for DC Comics.</p><p>Jaime plopped down in one of the middle rows of the classroom and pulled up a blank Word document for notes. As he yawned, he didn’t notice the girl next to him until he nearly smacked her in the face whilst stretching.</p><p>The girl ducked. “You gotta watch where you put that thing,” she said, gesturing to his hand.</p><p>“That sounds so wrong when you say it like that, <em> chica</em>,” he replied.</p><p>She smirked. “So I’ve been told.”</p><p>Not even five minutes into the class, Jaime felt a nudge under the table. He looked down to see an open pack of lemon drops.</p><p>“Go on,” said the girl. “They’re your favorite.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t,” Jaime said, eyes trained on the screen.</p><p>She pouted. “You’re such a stick in the mud, you know that? A piece of candy won’t kill you. Unless you choke. But then you won’t have to deal with homework, so like…”</p><p>“<em>Lo siento</em>, Brenda, but I really need to pay attention.”</p><p>Jaime’s after-school plans were the same as always: go home and gorge himself on takeout and movies. Before he could push open the handprint-covered glass door, Brenda stopped him.</p><p>“You got any plans this weekend?” she asked.</p><p>“Define ‘plans’,” said Jaime. “If sleeping till noon and moderating a superhero forum counts, then I’m busy.”</p><p>Brenda rolled her eyes. “You need to get out more. When’s the last time you, I dunno, went on a date?”</p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>She held up a hand. “Wait, I can answer that—when you took Naomi to junior prom. Seriously, <em> hombre</em>, loosen up—your twenties won’t last forever.” Despite her shorter stature, she threw an arm over his shoulder. “Tye, Asami, and I are hitting the town on Friday.”</p><p>“Paco’s not going?”</p><p>“He’s babysitting his nephew. Anyway, you should come. It’ll be a healthy change for you.”</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>“How about this,” Brenda said. “If you bring a date this weekend, I promise to stop hounding you about getting out of the house for the rest of the year.”</p><p>“Fine,” Jaime said. “I’ll probably just pick up someone from online.”</p><p>“Hey, whatever works. Catch ya later, <em> hermano!</em>”</p><p>The walk back home was, like everything else, unremarkable. The sky behind the clouds dimmed like an incandescent lightbulb clinging to its remaining wattage. As Jaime made his way to the bus stop, he dropped a dollar in a homeless man’s cup and, once again, checked his phone. </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>To do:</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Buy flour </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Post Doom Patrol theories </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Fix window </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Watch SHAZAM movie </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Clean fridge </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Write SHAZAM movie review </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Do homework </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> - Sign up for Green Lantern fic swap </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He tapped the screen. “How about I do none of those things and take a nap in front of the TV?”</p><p>A raindrop hit the home button, closing the notes app for him.</p><p>Awesome. The <em>one </em>day he didn't habitually carry an umbrella in desert Texas like the crazy person Tye called him.</p><p>Jaime flipped his hood up and raced through the puddles like a hydroplaning pickup truck.</p><p>The bus’s bright advertisements came into view. Passengers deboarded and boarded. The block between Jaime and the ride shrunk.</p><p>Two hundred feet.</p><p>A hundred.</p><p>Fifty.</p><p>Twenty-five.</p><p>The exhaust spat a noxious gray cloud. Heavy wheeled ground into the grainy asphalt as the bus rolled forward.</p><p>Jaime’s eyes widened, and if he wasn’t sprinting before, he was now. “No no no, stop, please!”</p><p>The bus merged into the rush hour traffic, past the green light, disappearing in the jungle of metal and cinderblocks. Jaime put his hands on his knees, cursing between shallow pants. A group of teenage girls gave him a weird look before turning back to the chihuahua one of them was holding.</p><p>A light sprinkle turned into a drizzle rivaling Gotham City. While the teenagers had colorful umbrellas attached to their schoolbags, Jaime had only the clothes on his own back. The bus station provided no cover, no bench to rest on, <em> nada</em>. He leaned against the rusty sign, brushing the water-beaded spiderweb away from his elbow. The rancid icing on this stale cake was the cyclist splashing mud in their wake, effectively rendering Jaime’s pants unwearable for the next two million years.</p><p>“<em>Querido Dios por favor mátame</em>.”</p><p>The next bus was a full fifteen minutes late, packed like sardines with Jaime squished between two sweaty gym rats, and the rookie driver barreled past his stop—he didn’t notice the latter until five blocks later because he was refreshing his feed. He slapped the stop button and hopped off the bus. </p><p>Relief rushed through him as he inhaled a breath of fresh air, but it left just as quickly when he realized it was almost dark. Him missing the first bus <em>plus </em>an additional five-block walk meant he’d have to either shave time from dinner, skip showering, or miss sleep just to get his chores done. Those forty-five lost minutes <em>completely </em>threw off his schedule and now nothing was gonna get done and he was going to fail at everything and he had no one to blame but himself because everything was <em>his fault, his fault, his fault</em>.</p><p>An invisible hand squeezed his chest. The air left his lungs like a deflating balloon—not whooshing out all at once; rather, seeping out with a pathetic whine. His throat went dry. Thoughts swirled through his brain like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Grapple as he may, Jaime couldn’t pin down a single coherent one. </p><p>His fingertips gripped rough red brick a split second before his knees gave out. Car horns, dog barks, and raindrops blurred together. Jaime’s back slid down the wall and drew his knees to his chest. His heart thrummed in his ear, each beat as though he was standing by a bass drum. He coughed.</p><p>“Jaime?” He felt a hand on his arm. “Jaime, breathe.”</p><p>Jaime’s eyes followed the hand up the green-sleeved arm to a Japanese girl his age. </p><p>As he caught his breath, he asked, “What are you doing here, Asami?”</p><p>She pointed up at the building—an apartment similar to his.</p><p>Jaime coughed. Asami rubbed circles on his back, whispering soothing words in broken English. From a side door, Asami’s boyfriend and Jaime’s childhood friend, Tye, emerged with a towel, an umbrella, and a water bottle. </p><p>While Tye shielded them from the downpour, Asami helped Jaime dry off (somewhat) and cracked open the ice-cold bottle.</p><p>After a few sips, plus Asami’s instructions, Jaime’s breathing evened out. </p><p>Tye crouched beside Jaime, concern gleaming in his coffee eyes.</p><p>“You look terrible.”</p><p>Jaime laughed, taking another sip. “Thanks, I’m trying this new hair gel called Essence of Stress.” </p><p>He handed the towel back to Asami. She shoved it back in his hand.</p><p>“This is yours,” she said. “You forgot at Tye’s home.”</p><p>Jaime looked down at the pale blue towel. “It is?”</p><p>“Remember that pool party where we dumped all of Maurice’s crap into the deep end after my mom kicked him out?” asked Tye. “Then you ate too many s’mores and had a sugar crash?”</p><p>“Huh.” Jaime tucked it under his arm and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “Man, that was, what, senior year?”</p><p>“Felt like yesterday.” Tye placed a hand on Jaime’s knee. “Seriously, dude, what’s up?”</p><p>Jaime sighed, closing his eyes. “It’s… I dunno, I’m a mess.”</p><p>“Clean up,” Asami said.</p><p>“Easy for you to say. You guys are the textbook perfect adults who can, like, pay taxes and stuff.”</p><p>She shook her head. “Adulthood is not taxes.”</p><p>Jaime rubbed his eyes, the panic attack receding and exhaustion replacing it.</p><p>“Life’ll suck less when you don’t look like a dead man walking,” Tye said. “We’ll walk you home, and after that, you better eat something, shower, and go the frick to sleep.”</p><p>“Can’t, I have lots to do.”</p><p>“‘Lots’ can wait,” said Asami. “Remember, when showering, use the pretty soap.”</p><p>Tye snorted. “<em>‘The pretty soap’</em>? He’s a dude, Asami.”</p><p>She crossed her arms. “Maybe <em> you </em> should use the pretty soap.”</p><p>The weight on Jaime’s chest was still there when they arrived at his front steps, but lighter, like a textbook removed from a backpack. His head felt less stuffy. Surely, he was doing something right if he had friends like these.</p><p>Jaime thanked them, and they parted ways. His body shifted back to autopilot as he stepped into the elevator, if only to not fall asleep standing. The sole sensation that could rival his heavy head was his empty stomach. Jaime was forty percent sure he had leftovers. Yeah, that worked. It was sustenance, right?</p><p>Maybe hunger keeping him semi-alert was a blessing, otherwise he would’ve missed the chill run down his spine as he approached his apartment.</p><p>The lock clicked; the knob slowly turned.</p><p>Breaths soft and steady, Jaime set his things on the kitchen island, begging his pulse to slow down, to no avail.</p><p>The windows were latched shut. All the furniture was as they were. The Harley Quinn magnet was still on the fridge, slightly askew, as it was in the morning. Jaime’s dirty cup still rested in the sink. </p><p>Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe he needed rest. Who would be dumb enough to break into a fourth-floor apartment, anyway?</p><p>There was a bump from the bedroom.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>• Hermoso = beautiful<br/>• Buenos días = good morning<br/>• Por favor = please<br/>• Mijo = son (affectionate)<br/>• Chica = girl<br/>• Lo siento = I’m sorry<br/>• Hombre = man<br/>• Hermano = bro<br/>• Nada = nothing<br/>• Querido dios por favor mátame = Dear God please kill me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first part of this chapter is adapted directly from The Flash: Fastest Man Alive #12, which you can read online for free <a href="https://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Flash-The-Fastest-Man-Alive/Issue-12?id=63987&amp;readType=1">here</a>. Also, Pied Piper is canonically deaf but the Fastest Man Alive comics ignored that, so I decided to adjust for that because disability erasure is not cool even if it’s a villain. If you’ve already read the comic, I’ve given the option to skip past that and go to the point where we diverge from canon, which I put the first word of in bold.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bye-bye police station.</p><p>Bye-bye secret identity.</p><p>Not that Bart will have much use for the latter after today.</p><p>A millisecond later, he’s tearing through asphalt halfway across the city. That was when he spotted him—a shadowy humanoid figure trailing a few paces behind Bart, racing at top speed but not catching up. Not yet.</p><p>No worries; if he wanted to tag along, that was fine with Bart. He just better not get in Bart’s way.</p><p>It’s no coincidence the Rogues attacked a famous landmark months after the Flash moved here. They were baiting him, and it looked like they’d put something up to keep everyone else out. A discolored snow globe encasing the city center. Yellow, like lightning. Yellow, like the uniform he once donned when he outgrew Impulse, and the one his rapid aging wouldn’t let him keep for more than a year. It contrasted the pale blue sky, as though an artist had painted the fine line separating nature and humanity. </p><p>He rounded the boundary, weaving through the thick pine brushes, kicking up the sweet, pungent forest perfume. All things being equal, Bart guessed he wouldn’t be able to vibrate his way through the force field…</p><p>Which meant taking the scenic route through the bedrock.</p><p>There was one thing no one ever mentioned about phasing through matter: the darkness.</p><p>He didn’t have a flashlight on him like Tim or enhanced vision like Kon. The scarlet suit didn’t come with built-in goggles or a GPS. The lightning encasing his body barely illuminated his hands. Warehouses were cold and unforgiving, but at least they provided windows to the faint starlight or a lone bulb hanging in the middle of the room. But Earth? She showed no mercy.</p><p>Bart gritted his teeth and did what he always did: follow his instinct.</p><p>He really should take a minute to contact the Titans or the Justice League; perhaps tell Grandma Iris his whereabouts, or call Valerie and tell her how he really felt, even if said feelings were mixed up, confounding, or straight-up nonexistent. If things wind up going South like Bart had the gut-wrenching prediction they would, the people he cared for deserved to have loose ends tied.</p><p>But there was no time. He had to stop the Rogues. Besides, he had always been a bit <em>impulsive</em>.</p><p>And he already knew what was going to happen, anyway.</p><p>His grandmother had spent some time in the thirtieth century and gotten a pretty good idea of how everything’s supposed to turn out.</p><p>She told him <em>everything </em>because she thought—she <em>believed</em>—the future can be changed. Now, with his mortal enemies eagerly waiting and the Speed Force coursing through his veins, Bart had no doubt <em>he </em>was the one destined to rewrite the timeline.</p><p>(He just wanted a normal life. Was that too much to ask?)</p><p>There were maybe four other people on the planet who could vibrate their way through solid rock. But the Rogues don’t care about them. It was Bart they wanted. That’s why they left this hole in their defenses—that’s why they left a door open for <em>him</em>. It’d be downright awful to disappoint them.</p><p>Bart knew he was in the right place when he heard a familiar voice from inside the evacuated library. </p><p>
  <em> “You know, Kadabra, clearly I didn’t give you enough credit.” </em>
</p><p>Bones cracked under a kick so fast only a speedster could deliver (and hear).</p><p>Bart stuck close to the shadows as he rounded the corner, looking for a glass pane or something easy to phase through. He scowled.</p><p>“I was counting on you being ignorant—you know, pretty much <em> exactly </em> what you morons have been for <em> decades </em> .” A heel collided with Kadabra’s temple. “Which is why you’ve always gotten your butts handed to you by the Flash—excuse me, Flashes, <em>plural</em>—time and time and <em>time again! </em>”</p><p>A green-and-yellow flurry encircled Abra Kadabra, punches and kicks flying from all directions. Bart almost felt bad for the Rogue.</p><p>“But I gotta admit, you surprised me.” Inertia—<em> Thaddeus Thawne </em> —skidded to a stop, back facing the window Bart peered through. “You figured it out: I’m using you as bait, ‘cause my <em> ‘little toy’</em>, as you put it, is <em> worthless </em> unless the Flash is here.” </p><p>Thad wrapped his hand around Kadabra’s jugular. “Too bad you won’t be <em> alive </em> long enough to see <em> why </em>!”</p><p>Bart phased through the glass with a <em> zwoop</em>.</p><p>“Boys, boys, boys. There’s no need to fight.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll happily lay a beating on <em> both </em> of you.”</p><p>“Thank God,” Kadabra said.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be in prison?” Bart spared a glance at Kadabra before focusing on Thad. “And <em>you</em>. How can you be my <em>clone</em>, yet be this <em>stupid</em>? Didn’t the Deathstroke-Titans debacle teach you <em> anything</em>?”</p><p>Thad clenched a fist, but Bart beat him to the punch. He swung; Thad sidestepped.</p><p>“Glad you could make it, <em> brother</em>,” Thad said, ducking under another one of Bart’s lightning-charged hits. Thad’s backhand collided with Bart’s cheek. “This city’s nice. I can see why you moved here.”</p><p>Bart stumbled and caught himself. He returned with an uppercut. A sickly, satisfying pop echoed through the air as his knuckles met Thad’s chin. Thad’s next hit struck Bart straight in the jaw. </p><p>He spat aside a thick, rust-red glob. “Yeah, the only thing wrong with it is the traffic and a certain <em> undesirable </em> element.”</p><p>Bart almost didn’t feel the explosion. One moment he was swinging at his twisted genetic replica. The next thing he knew, his body was thrown across the room. </p><p>He shook off the rear-ringing enough to catch Captain Cold say, “<em>Undesirable element</em>, huh? Is that a cue or what?”</p><p>Standing in the smoldering, gaping hole that was once the audiobook section was the entire Central City Rogues Gallery—Captain Cold, Heat Wave, Trickster, Pied Piper, and Mirror Master. </p><p>“<em>Excuse me</em>.” Bart brushed the rubble off and pulled himself to his feet. “<em>I’m </em>the only one who can make with the witty banter, alright? So I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to <em> penalize </em> you.”</p><p>Captain Cold lifted his gun. “You mean you’ll try.”</p><p>Bart dodged the cold beam and socked Cold with an uppercut. “Okay, I’m trying.” </p><p>He turned to Pied Piper and said in sign language, <em> “And Piper, honestly, I expected better from you.” </em></p><p>Piper signed back, <em> “Reform is overrated, Flash.” </em></p><p>Bart snatched Piper’s flute. He snapped it in two.<em> “What about common sense? You gotta know how this is gonna end.” </em></p><p>“Actually, he doesn’t have the first clue.” Mirror Master’s arm slammed Bart’s face as he leaped out of his wings’ reflection. “Thanks for keepin’ those earpieces <em> nice ‘n shiny</em>.”</p><p>Bart cried out and tore the wings off his cowl, watery eyes blurring his sight. The golden pieces hit the ground, pinging like zills. </p><p>Time crawled in nanoseconds—more than enough time to feel the scorching breeze coming at his back.</p><p>And enough time for Bart to snatch Cold’s gun with an, “<em>ExcusememindifIborrowthisforasecond</em>?” </p><p>Orange filled the room on one side and blue filled the room on the other as the cryogenic blast met Heat Wave’s plume, like planets of ice and fire who had the unfortunate luck of crossing paths. </p><p>Bart smirked. He always wanted to try that.</p><p><b>The</b> rest of the Rogues were easy work—a smack there, a knee to the ribs there. Nothing Bart hadn’t fought before.</p><p>He sprinted toward whatever machine Thad was building. The Rogues were a ruse, meaning there was still the greater danger of Inertia’s schemes. What it was, Bart had no idea. But he needed to stop it.</p><p>A leg swept under his ankles. He tumbled onto the yellowed grass. Dirt specks wedged themselves between his teeth. His body skidded to a stop, skin scraped raw like he had been put through a cheese grater. </p><p>Only one thing could stop a speedster running over three hundred miles per hour (two, if he counted Wonder Girl).</p><p>Thad tutted. “Always trying to be the hero, <em> brother</em>.”</p><p>His foot struck Bart’s stomach. Bart keeled over as the ait rushed out of his diaphragm.</p><p>“You think you’re all that,” Bart said. “The moment I turn off that machine, it’s <em> over </em> for you.”</p><p>“That’s where you’re wrong.” A sadistic smile stretched across Thad’s face. “<em>It’s already activated</em>.”</p><p>Bart clutched his side. “Kadabra built that thing for you. Do you even know what it does?”</p><p>A sucking force made him whirl around. Where there once was a pile of stone debris stood a swirling black hole the size of a car, hungrily swallowing everything in its reach. </p><p>Thad asked, “Why don’t you see for yourself?”</p><p>His boot met Bart’s back, sending Bart toppling into the bottomless pit. Bart’s fingers snagged Thad’s shirt. If Bart was going down, he was sure as hell gonna take his Reverse Flash with him.</p><p>Darkness encased him. He plummeted, but any sense of gravity disappeared with the world. Thad clawed at Bart’s shoulder, tearing a piece off the spandex. Bart karate chopped Thad on the upside of the head.</p><p>Bart had never fought in mid-air. The weightlessness caught him off-guard, allowing Thad to land a punch square on Bart’s nose. The tiny droplets would’ve been invisible had Bart not felt them dampen his cowl.</p><p>“<em>This </em> was your brilliant plan?” Bart jabbed an elbow in Thad’s chest. “Send me floating through space? The Lantern Corps can easily find me.”</p><p>Thad grinned. “<em>Don’t be so sure</em>.”</p><p>He hit Bart again. Bart tasted iron stronger than before. He caught Thad’s wrist before another punch could land and twisted. A bone cracked.</p><p>They approached a collection of white specks, like Kryptonians sent from their home planet to seek refuge. It looked like the Andromeda galaxy at first, but the closer they got, the quicker Bart realized those weren’t stars, but <em>portals</em>. Flat, glassy disks the size of doors, each with a different distorted image behind them. </p><p>With a heaving grunt, Bart shoved Thad with his foot, sending the latter flying several feet into a portal. Before a scream could leave his mouth, Thad disappeared. The crystal surface wobbled like gelatin.</p><p>Bart’s celebration was short-lived. The black vacuum disappeared as his body broke the surface tension. Falling through the portal felt a lot like his friends pushing him into the pool. He lifted his torn glove and checked his watch. The hands stood still.</p><p>Having no sense of how long he was in free-fall, Bart had nothing left to do but think.</p><p>He’d have to put his quasi-relationship with Valerie on an indefinite pause. “Quasi” because Bart’s still not sure what they had qualified as dating. Between the other Flash deaths, Bart’s roommate turning into a villain, STAR Labs, her dad being an evil mastermind, and the Speed Force, neither of them could sit down and just… <em> talk</em>. It was almost ridiculous how they acted like teenagers in a drama. One misconstrued situation was all it took to cut ties; they kept pulling themselves in before pushing each other away. It <em>sucked</em>. Valerie was a nice girl who deserved to find love, but Bart wasn’t sure he wanted to continue their cat-and-mouse game if— <em> when </em>—he returned home.</p><p>A fleeting notion of his own happiness crossed his mind, but that wasn’t happening at this point. He knew the routine: fake a smile, save the day.</p><p>Sleep—or was it unconsciousness?—tugged at his eyelids. His brain was foggy from all the blows he took from the villains. </p><p>Without warning, his body hit a surface, jolting him wide awake. Pain wracked his body as though every injury demanded to be felt. His stomach churned. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and he had half the mind to lie down and pass out right there.</p><p>Through the hole in his glove, he felt something… <em> rough</em>, but also… <em> fuzzy</em>. Like… carpet.</p><p>Bart’s eyes adjusted to the low lighting. </p><p>
  <em> Where was he? </em>
</p><p>Without getting up, he pinpointed a few features.</p><p>A ceiling fan.</p><p>Streetlights through closed window blinds and car horns outside.</p><p>A bed, a dresser, a desk. Next to the second one, a closet door ajar. There was another door, but Bart wasn’t sure he wanted to check that out yet.</p><p>Bart bit back a grunt and pulled himself up with the help of the wooden bed frame. His legs shook. Electricity shot up his right leg, and his titanium knee was the conductor. Hopefully, <em> that </em>wasn’t damaged or else he’s screwed.</p><p>An open book on the nightstand caught his eye. Though it was dark, he could make out bright colors in familiar configurations. Bart pulled out his phone. The flashlight was busted, but the cracked screen gave off enough light for him to make out what it said.</p><p>He thumbed through the laminated pages. Panels came together to form a story, like the ones he and Kon read on their pawn shop trips. But it quickly became apparent that something was off.</p><p>Empty speech bubbles floated over the scenic setting sketches, belonging to no one. Bart thought it was a print error at first, and whoever bought it was either really lucky or really <em>un</em>lucky.</p><p>Print errors didn’t happen like this, though. In every panel, only one person was missing. Everyone else’s drawings and speech remained intact.</p><p>Bart turned the page. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the face.</p><p>“Grandma Iris…”</p><p>What’s happening? What’s she doing there? How did she end up in there? What in Nine Hells <em>was </em>this dimension?</p><p>He took a deep breath. </p><p>
  <em> Calm down.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Observe before judging. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Don’t be so impulsive. </em>
</p><p>Maybe he wound up in the lair of some god-like being who controlled the dimensions. But why would an all-powerful deity live in what appeared to be a starter apartment?</p><p>Bart winced as he limped over to the desk. The table itself had only a mug of pens and a yellow sticky note pad, but the shelf above held binder upon inch-thick binder, sorted both alphabetically and by colored stickers on the spine, as though someone tried to print out books but had no idea how to stitch together a cover. He grabbed the first one.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>The Adventures of Impulse and Blue Beetle (vol. 1)</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p><em> Impulse</em>. That was him. Or was it this dimension’s version of him? Bart wondered what this dimension’s Impulse/Kid Flash/Flash looked like as he turned to the first page. And Blue Beetle? As in Ted Kord? The heck was Bart doing with that guy? He peeled off his sweaty, dirt-scuffed cowl to get a better view.</p><p>Below that was a subtitle reading:</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Written, edited, and cover created by Jaime Reyes</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>So this interdimensional being—Jaime Reyes—wrote all these parallel universes?</p><p>His mouth silently moved along with the words.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>I watch from a safe distance. Distance is the only thing I know—the only thing besides him. </b>
  </p>
  <p><b> <em>Impulse</em> </b> <b>, in all his crimson beauty, streaks like lightning across the diamond desert sands. </b> <b> <em>Impulse</em> </b> <b>, with his sunny grin and melodious laughter echoing across the open plain. The mere thought of him leaves me sighing like a seventeenth-century damsel, trapped in my tower, wishing upon a star to get even an inch closer. Everything about him is just… well… perfect. It’s like every work of art squeezed into one body, with the bonus of superpowers.</b></p>
</blockquote><p>Wait, what?</p><p>Bart re-read the paragraph. Was this some sort of hyper-organized diary entry? He skipped to the bottom of the page.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>A new kid arrived at school today. I paid little attention at first—new kids are always moving in here. But then, something happened when he asked me for a pencil. Something… strange. Something, dare I say, electrifying?</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>It must be the static. The air’s dry and we’re surrounded by carpet and wool clothes.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>“Sorry about that. Winter, am I right?” His gold eyes twinkle and he extends a hand. “I’m Bart, by the way.”</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Something about him seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>“Jaime,” I say. “Jaime Reyes.”</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Bart blinked.</p><p>To recap: this Jaime Reyes… person (?) knew Bart’s true identity, and he’s using it to… what? Rewrite the timeline? Summon a portal to a new world? </p><p>He turned the page.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>I take his hand and duck behind the rosebush.</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>“There’s no time to explain,” I say. I take a breath, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. “I’m the Blue Beetle, and we’re </b> <b> <em>both</em> </b> <b> in danger.”</b></p>
</blockquote><p>Okay, so this Jaime person is a dimension-manipulating meta-deity-creature-thingy <em>and </em>a Blue Beetle, and he’s doing this while still in school. Bart would comment on the strange after-school job choice, but he was a full-time Titan in tenth grade, so he was one to talk.</p><p>He skimmed the next few pages—something about Zoom collaborating with the Reach to take over the universe. Bart slowed down at the part with the Lantern Corps.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>“Since you know my identity, I might as well tell you hers.” I point to the teenage Green Lantern swinging a giant green fist at a Reach drone. “That’s Milagro. She’s my little sister. I promised my parents I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>“Aw, you’re the sweetest,” Bart says, adjusting his yellow costume goggles. “If we weren’t on a time-sensitive mission, I’d kiss you.”</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>I blush. “I-I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>“In that case…” He pulls me in and—</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em> Nope. </em>
</p><p>Bart snapped the binder shut. That was enough weird alternate universe creation plans for a lifetime. He wasn’t even going to <em>look</em> at the drawing on the cover. The proportions were all messed up, anyway. Unless those <em>were</em> human proportions in this universe. In which case, <em>big</em> <em>yikes</em>.</p><p>Parallel universes. Interdimensional gods with infinite power, and the off-chance of said power being used for evil. Bart tapped his comms, but there was only static.</p><p>Another jolt of pain shot through his knee. Bart reached for something to catch his balance. His hand pressed against the end of the shelf. </p><p>As if in slow motion, everything tumbled down. A deafening crash filled the tiny room. Bart froze. There was nothing for him to do except cover his ears with his hands and pray none of the neighbors heard that.</p><p>“Hands above your head!”</p><p>Bart whirled around to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Jaime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Contains spoilers for The Flash: Fastest Man Alive #13. If you want to read that first, you can do so <a href="https://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Flash-The-Fastest-Man-Alive/Issue-13?id=63988">here.</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>I said put ‘em up!</em>” </p><p>A tremor ran up Jaime’s arm, stopping before it could reach his handgun. His finger hovered over the trigger; his heart thrummed in his ears.</p><p>“Okay, okay!” The intruder lifted his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot.”</p><p>Jaime pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over the nine key.</p><p>“Don’t call the cops!”</p><p>Jaime narrowed his eyes. “And why not? You broke into my house!”</p><p>“I’m from another dimension!”</p><p>“What?” Jaime lowered the gun slightly before lifting it back up.</p><p>“I’m serious,” the intruder said. “My name is Bart Allen. I fell through some portal my evil clone-twin created and ended up here.” </p><p>“Like… Impulse? <em> That </em> Bart Allen?”</p><p>“The Flash, technically, but yeah.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>The intruder glanced from the comic on the nightstand, to the broken shelf and scattered binders, to Jaime. “Look for yourself.”</p><p>Gun still pointed, Jaime instructed the intruder to stand against the wall as he hopped over the bed to the open comic book.</p><p>His brows furrowed. Page after page he flipped and examined, yet the title character was nowhere to be seen, as though an artist had taken an eraser to him. The speech bubbles were devoid of expression, and the words and actions of the side characters made no sense without the protagonist in context.</p><p>The cover was still intact. Jaime held it up, comparing it to the sweaty, disheveled home invader. The hair, the costume, the <em> likeness </em> was uncanny.</p><p>Jaime lifted his finger off the trigger.</p><p>“I have a question for you,” Bart said. “What <em> is </em> this place? Am I in, like, the dimension-creating headquarters or something?”</p><p>“Huh? No,” Jaime said. “This is <em> my apartment</em>.”</p><p>“Then what's with those?” Bart pointed to the binders.</p><p>“Dear God, please don’t tell me you read those.”</p><p>Bart crossed his arms. “I did. So tell me, who <em> are </em> you? Are you a god?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Are you a supervillain?”</p><p>“I’m not a supervillain!” said Jaime.</p><p>“Then what’s with the gun?” Bart asked.</p><p>“It’s Texas, everyone has one.” </p><p>Jaime ran his fingers through his hair. He must be hallucinating out of anxiety or sleep deprivation because no way in <em>hell </em>could his favorite character simply <em>leap </em> out of the comics into his bedroom. </p><p>Jaime rubbed his temples. “So what you’re saying is, the multiverse is real and DC Comics <em> aren’t </em> just comics?”</p><p>“Say what now?”</p><p>“We need to get you back. The story can’t exist without you—Young Justice, Teen Titans, <em> everything</em>.”</p><p>“Alright,” Bart said, “this is super confusing and you clearly don’t know anything about dimension-hopping, so I’m gonna skedaddle and find someone who can help me fix this whole mess.”</p><p>Bart darted toward the wall. His face slammed into the surface, and he fell back with a groan, clutching his nose. </p><p>“Okay, first off: <em> ow</em>,” Bart said. “Second: that wasn’t supposed to happen.”</p><p>Jaime slipped the gun in his waistband and helped Bart to his feet. “You tried to phase through, huh?”</p><p>Bart nodded, wiping the spots of blood falling from his nostril. “Why didn’t it work?”</p><p>“Superpowers don’t exist here,” Jaime said. “Here, you’re just a regular guy.”</p><p>“Wait,” Bart said. “Regular, as in… normal?”</p><p>Something flashed across his face, but Jaime wasn’t sure what.</p><p>“I guess. Nothing exciting to see here.” Jaime ushered Bart out of the bedroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, then we’ll figure out what to do. My landlord’s gonna charge extra if blood gets on the carpet.”</p><p>Bart sniffed his armpit and recoiled. “Can I use your shower?”</p><p>“Right across the hall,” Jaime said. “We can dress your wounds after that since I doubt you retained your healing factor.”</p><p>As Bart opened the bathroom door, he said, “You gotta explain how you know all of this.”</p><p>“Yeah, of course.”</p><p>Jaime let the door close after Bart and flopped onto his head. He pinched the back of his hand.</p><p>Okay, that hurt. Which meant he wasn’t dreaming or seeing things. </p><p>This was real. <em> The Flash </em> was real. <em> Bart Allen</em>, someone who Jaime once thought was purely a figment of fiction, <em> was in his apartment</em>.</p><p>He buried his face in his pillow, trying to keep the massive freakout to a minimum. Even then, a high-pitch squeal escaped. Elation bubbled through his chest. The only other time he’d felt that was when he met Henry Cavill.</p><p>A knock on the doorframe interrupted his thoughts. </p><p>Bart coughed awkwardly, shifting his weight between his feet. “I need to borrow some clothes.”</p><p>“Right, clothes.” Jaime walked over to the closet. “Let’s see what we got.”</p><p>Bart looked around the same height Jaime was when he graduated high school. He tossed Bart a pair of basketball shorts and a gray Rio Grande High School hoodie. </p><p>“Hopefully that works,” Jaime said. “Lemme know when you’re done.”</p><p>Jaime collapsed back onto the bed as the water started. He ran a hand over his face. One thing’s for sure: he can’t complain about being bored anymore.</p><p>He tossed the gun into its storage and changed out of his stiff daytime clothes, opting for his university hoodie and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. Jaime combed the knots out of his rain-damp hair and fixed the bookshelf back on the wall, using the flat metal bits of a plug as a screwdriver. The thought of <em>anyone </em>in real life reading his writing was mortifying enough, let alone <em> Bart</em>, who probably read the ones Jaime wrote <em>about him</em>. Pushing that out of his mind, Jaime reorganized the binders in their original order.</p><p>The shower stopped. Jaime took it as a cue to grab the ice packs from the freezer and first-aid kit from under the kitchen sink.</p><p>His knuckles rapped against the door. “You done? I, uh, got some stuff for your injuries.”</p><p>The lock clicked.</p><p>“Come in, I’m just drying my hair.”</p><p>Bart was sitting at the edge of the tub, patting his hair with a spare towel. The torn, scuffed Flash costume laid in a pile on the bath mat, and the sweatshirt was tied around his waist, revealing a smattering of nicks and blossoming bruises along his body.</p><p>Jaime scratched the back of his neck. “You want help with those or…?”</p><p>Bart shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder, the damp strands falling past his freckle-spotted face. </p><p>As Jaime dressed the cuts with alcohol swabs and Wonder Woman band-aids, Bart asked, “Your name is… Jay-mee Rays?”</p><p>“It’s <em> Hai-mey Rey-ez</em>.”</p><p>A few minutes of silence passed, save for the radiator humming and Jaime’s occasional instructions. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long on Bart’s physique. Bart was a superhero—abs were the status quo.</p><p>Bart broke the silence by asking, “What were those things you wrote?”</p><p>Jaime chuckled as he peeled open another band-aid. “Fanfiction. Mainly DC, but I have the occasional Marvel ones too.”</p><p>Bart tilted his head.</p><p>“Guess I should start from the top,” Jaime said. “Basically, DC Comics refers to, like, the universe you came from. What you know as the ‘real world’ is a comic franchise here. Same for Marvel, but they’re a different company. I’m not really sure if their universe is also real, but whatever.”</p><p>“So… everything I’ve done, you know about?”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “You, your friends, your family, your enemies. <em> Hijole</em>, it sounds super creepy when you put it that way.”</p><p>“And the readers write their own spinoffs based on that?”</p><p>“Some do. Others might draw, create playlists, post theories, so on and so forth. And some folks just like to sit back and consume everything.”</p><p>Bart carded his fingers through his hair. “This is too weird.”</p><p>“Ditto.”</p><p>Bart paused. “I’m sorry for, uh, reading your stuff without permission.”</p><p>Jaime bit his lip. “Which ones did you read, exactly?”</p><p>“The one with me and you. Er, Blue Beetle.”</p><p>“Awesome, time to throw myself out the window.”</p><p>The corner of Bart’s tongue poked out when he giggled. “If it helps, I think you’re a talented writer.”</p><p>“No one was supposed to read that, other than the gazillion strangers on the internet.”</p><p>Bart laughed again. “You’re funny.”</p><p>“Thanks, it’s the anxiety.”</p><p>Jaime wrapped the last of the wounds—a long scrape down Bart’s bicep.</p><p>Bart asked, “You think I can go back the same way I came?”</p><p>Jaime shook his head as he handed Bart an ice pack for the bruises. “I didn’t see any portal or whatever when I flipped through. Reckon it’s a one-time thing.”</p><p>“So I’m stuck here.”</p><p>“Not if we find another dimensional portal,” Jaime said. “I’m sure I have a spare one lying in the other room.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“I’m a grad student who runs on caffeine and a crippling fear of failure. What do you think?” said Jaime. “We might find one in another comic, but I only own so many.”</p><p>“That might work,” Bart said, “but ‘till then, I need a place to stay.”</p><p>“Is that your way of asking if you can crash here?”</p><p>“If that’s possible.”</p><p>Jaime thought for a second. “We can pull out the sofa bed. But I think we should set some ground rules first.”</p><p>“Like?”</p><p>“Well…” Jaime put his hands on his hips, thinking. “In case we’re in it for the long haul, you need a job. I can’t afford a freeloader.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Bart said. “Anything else?”</p><p>“We’re going shopping this week. I can’t have you constantly wearing my clothes.”</p><p>“You have yourself a deal.”</p><p>“Alright,” Jaime said. “Hopefully we can return you to your world as quickly as possible. To keep track of progress, let’s count today as Day One.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~ Day 2 ~</b>
</p><p>Jaime woke up not to the alarm, but to clattering from outside. He groggily threw the sheets off his body and rubbed the crusty sleep remnants out of his eyes. </p><p>“<em>¿Qué diablos?</em>”</p><p>He peered around the corner of the hallway to find Bart standing in the middle of the kitchen, waffle maker in one hand and a whisk in the other. </p><p>Jaime crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I was trying to make breakfast?” Bart scratched the back of his head. “Normally I’d heat things using friction or call Superboy, but I thought I’d take a shot at doing things without powers.”</p><p>Dark purple-gray circles lined his eyes and his hair, though in a ponytail, was a mess, as if he’d been playing with it all night.</p><p>“Did you even sleep?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Little bit,” Bart said. “Too much to think about.”</p><p>Jaime nodded sympathetically. “So what did you do all night?”</p><p>“I borrowed the neighbor’s internet and wrote a resumé.” Bart snapped his fingers. “I have it somewhere around here…”</p><p>While Bart rooted around the tangled sheets of the sofa bed, Jaime made a quick trip to the bathroom and cleaned himself up, brushing his teeth and throwing on the button-up required for work. He spared a glance at his superhero notebook, but the real deal seemed a lot more interesting. </p><p>From the other room, Bart exclaimed, “I found it!”</p><p>“Alright,” Jaime said, “let’s see what you got.” </p><p>Bart handed him the sheet of paper. A spark of static electricity shocked them both when their fingers touched. Jaime ignored it, clearing his throat and looking over the resumé.</p><p>“Central City High School, Keystone Motors… <em> mhm</em>, it looks good, except for one problem.” He put the paper down on the center island. “<em>None of these places are real</em>.”</p><p>“You don’t have Central City?”</p><p>“It’s Kansas City here.”</p><p>“<em>Pfft</em>, that’s a dumb name. What’s next, Oklahoma City?”</p><p>“Boy, do I have news for you,” Jaime said. “But anyway, there’s also the issue of you <em> not existing </em> in the government’s eyes. You don’t have a bank account or Social Security Number, which means you can’t work in most places.”</p><p>“So what do we do now?”</p><p>Jaime rubbed his hand over his face. All these technicalities were seriously wearing away at the novelty.</p><p>“First, I’m gonna make some coffee, because I’m not nearly caffeinated enough for this.” As he opened an instant coffee packet, he asked, “Do you have an ID? That might be a good jumping-off point.”</p><p>Bart pulled out a wallet from his Flash costume. “I have a Missouri driver’s license and, like, three hundred bucks. Wally told me not to keep more than fifty on me, but I knew it’d come in handy. Oh, and a Batburger coupon, but I doubt you have those here.”</p><p>“We’re gonna have to double-check the validity on the license and currency, but it’s a start.” Jaime started the coffee machine; it dripped steadily, like molasses. “How do you like your coffee, by the way?”</p><p>“Faster than this.”</p><p>“No can do, <em> ese</em>. We’re operating on default settings here.”</p><p>Bart plopped down on one of the spinning barstools by the island. “Bet I can draw something before that finishes.”</p><p>“Be my guest.”</p><p>Bart zipped toward Jaime’s bedroom and returned with a piece of paper and a pen. The scritch-scratch created a strange harmony with the bubbling and dripping. Jaime was tempted to fix Bart’s hoodie, which was flipped inside-out. </p><p>The pen hit the table.</p><p>“<em>Done</em>.”</p><p>The coffee machine beeped.</p><p>“Impressive,” Jaime said, pouring the coffee into two mugs. “Can I see it?”</p><p>Bart turned the piece of paper around to reveal a detailed sketch of… Blue Beetle? The features weren’t those of Dan Garrett or Ted Kord, but <em> Jaime’s </em> advanced alien tech design. Only… <em> better</em>. Detailed, correctly scaled, the whole package.</p><p>“My headcanon was right: you’re a good artist.”</p><p>“Head-what now?”</p><p>“Never mind.” Jaime checked the clock. “I gotta head out. There should be some leftovers in the fridge and the Wi-Fi password is <em> ‘Jason Todd deserves better’</em>. Netflix password is <em> ‘Harley Quinn also deserves better’</em>. Also, here’s my number if you need anything.”</p><p>As Jaime scribbled his number on a napkin, Bart asked, “What happens in issue thirteen?”</p><p>“Hm?” Jaime looked up.</p><p>“I noticed the place—er, comic—I came from was <em> ‘The Flash: Fastest Man Alive’ </em> number twelve. What happens after that?”</p><p>Jaime winced. “Can we talk about that later?”</p><p>Bart hesitated before relenting. “Have a nice day at work. I’ll, um, see if I can figure stuff out on my end.”</p><p>Jaime hated leaving, but duty called and Janice was definitely on maternity leave by now, and he probably already had five phone calls waiting.</p><p>“Try not to set anything on fire,” Jaime said in a lame attempt at a joke.</p><p>Bart laughed. “No promises, my dude.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~ Day 3 ~</b>
</p><p>Bart emerged from the dressing room wearing a saturated blue tropical-print shirt and a crimson pleated skirt. “What do you think?”</p><p>Jaime scanned Bart from head to toe. “Skirt’s fine, but that’s shirt’s gotta go. I am <em> not </em> living with Florida Man.”</p><p>Bart pointed to a pair of knee-length tiger-print socks on the rack behind Jaime. “Maybe it’ll look better with those.”</p><p>Eyebrow raised, Jaime glanced from the socks to Bart’s unique ensemble. “I dunno. Seems a bit… <em> unconventional</em>.”</p><p>“Conventions are fluid and arbitrary,” Bart said. “Plus, it’s a buy-one-get-one, and I <em> know </em> you won’t say no to a pair of Justice League socks.”</p><p>“I <em> do </em>want those Justice League socks,” Jaime said. “Alright, add ‘em to the Yay Pile.”</p><p>The Yay Pile, also known as Jaime’s arms, was a hefty amalgamation of items that most people would never think of purchasing together, including embroidered overalls, a rainbow tank top, a pink plastic headband, several rock band tees, a raglan with a matching baseball cap, jeans, butterfly clips, a dress shirt, cargo shorts, a denim jacket, a wool cardigan, a wrist full of scrunchies, tie-dyed sneakers, a Christmas sweater, yellow star-shaped sunglasses, a crop top, Pokémon pajamas, sweatpants, and a fake green carnation Bart plucked from a mall planter because he liked how it looked in his hair. </p><p>“Do I have to change out?” Bart twirled around in the skirt. “I like how it feels. The girls have been holding out on us.”</p><p>“We have to pay first, <em> hermano</em>.”</p><p>“Fine, but as soon as we do, I’m putting it on. Wonder why I never tried these before.”</p><p>“Probably the writers,” Jaime said. “They tend to stick to the typical gender roles and whatnot ‘cause they think that’s what sells well. If I’m being honest, it makes <em> no </em> sense because writing is art, and art’s about taking risks and—never mind, I’m rambling.”</p><p>“No, keep going,” Bart said. “I enjoy listening to people talk about stuff they love. Plus, I can finally learn something about you.”</p><p>As they waited in line at the register, Jaime processed Bart’s words. “You… want to learn about me?”</p><p>“You have this encyclopedic knowledge of me, so it’s only fair that I know something about you, Jaime Reyes.” Bart added a berry lip balm and a pop-up hairbrush to the Yay Pile.</p><p>If Jaime had any hands free, he’d scratch the back of his neck. “There’s not much to know.”</p><p>“Sure there is.” Bart nudged him. “What’s your second favorite reptile?”</p><p>Jaime paused. No one’s ever asked him that. It just wasn’t something people <em>did</em>.</p><p>“Do dinosaurs count? ‘Cause, in that case, I gotta go with the velociraptor.”</p><p>“Second favorite Asian food?”</p><p>“Sushi. Specifically salmon with extra wasabi.”</p><p>“Second favorite artificial fruit flavor?”</p><p>“A tie between orange and black cherry.”</p><p>“Second favorite kids’ TV show?”</p><p>Jaime looked at Bart quizzically. “Why are you asking all my second favorites?”</p><p>Before Bart could answer, the cashier called the two up. Jaime placed the pile in front of the teenage employee with an apologetic look. Thankfully, she didn’t examine Bart’s cash too closely (re: not at all) as she counted the change.</p><p>They exited the mall, shopping bags decorating each arm like holly garlands. Bart slipped into the Starbucks bathroom to change and came out with the reindeer-themed Christmas sweater and jeans layered under the skirt for the November weather along with the tiger socks. Highlighter-yellow laces paired garishly well with the tie-dyed shoes, and they couldn’t forget the flower—Jaime helped Bart tuck it in his hair, right above his ear. Bart’s bright colors contrasted Jaime’s dark blues, browns, and grays, like the invention of color TV after an era of black and white. </p><p>“We got the afternoon to kill. Where to next?” Bart asked. </p><p>Jaime shrugged.</p><p>“Ooh, you should show me around,” Bart said. “What are the tourist must-sees of El Paso?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Jaime said. “El Paso’s, like, the lamest place on Earth.”</p><p>Bart raised an eyebrow. “<em>‘Lamest place on Earth’</em>? That’s quite the title, my man. Now you <em> gotta </em> show me.”</p><p>“We can start here, then.” Jaime pointed to the McDonald’s across the street. “That’s where I ate too many chicken nuggets and threw up in the ball pit.”</p><p>“How old were you?”</p><p>“Four…teen.”</p><p>Bart laughed, tongue poking out—Jaime didn’t recall that being in the comics. It was cute. And it served as a reminder of Jaime’s <em> massive </em> honking crush on him.</p><p>“Let me take you down the street,” Jaime said. “There I’ll show you the middle school I went to, where I have a distinct memory of messing up so badly on a history presentation that I ran out and called my mom.”</p><p>They hopped on a bus the way people in old movies hopped on trolleys, windows flipped open, the breeze blowing past their smiling faces. They passed the stadium where Jaime recounted the details of when he and Brenda saw their first concert in ninth grade, each wearing twenty glow sticks and singing off-tune to their favorite song. After that was the playground where Jaime witnessed his little sister take her first steps in the sandbox. Then there was the public pool Jaime fell into. Bart gripped onto every word like the stories were a Morgan Freeman movie. They got off at the corner store by Rio Grande High School.</p><p>“And this is the street where I got a speeding ticket five minutes after getting my license,” Jaime said. “You wanna grab something to eat?”</p><p>“<em>Heck yeah</em>,” Bart said. </p><p>Jaime pushed the door open with his elbow. “You get the snacks, I’ll get the drinks?”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan.”</p><p>Jaime was fairly quick in selecting a couple of soda bottles from the colorful array—Bart seemed like the guy who’ll drink anything. But what Bart <em> didn’t </em> strike Jaime as was the type to be slow in picking what to eat.</p><p>He found Bart two aisles over, carrying an exorbitant number of chip bags and candy bars in his skirt like a milkmaid.</p><p>“Check it out!” Bart said. “It’s multipurpose!”</p><p>“Is your enhanced metabolism still a thing?”</p><p>“Nope,” Bart said. “This is nowhere <em> near </em> how much I used to need. I just really like food.”</p><p>They topped off their junk food cache with a couple of chili dogs from the roller grill. Jaime chuckled as they walked past a small display of books.</p><p>“What’s so funny?” Bart asked.</p><p>Jaime gestured to the books. “I used to read those in middle school.”</p><p>Bart picked one up, examining the cover. “What’s it about?”</p><p>“It’s a series about these demigod kids who go to a summer camp where they’re sent on a quest to fight monsters and stuff.” Jaime thumbed through the pages. “The gay couple in it was what got me to accept that being queer is okay.” </p><p>“Is that the first book?”</p><p>“Nah, but I think I have it somewhere at home.”</p><p>“Sweet, I’ll check it out. Who knows, maybe they’re part of another universe too.”</p><p>“That implies that this is, like, the motherboard of universes, and anything we write becomes another offshoot.”</p><p>Bart shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, I’m <em>starved</em>. Anywhere we can sit down and dig in?”</p><p>“My old high school is down the street,” Jaime said. “If I remember correctly, the gym doors are open ‘cause of basketball practice.”</p><p>Basketballs and tennis shoes slapped the hardwood floor as groups of teenagers chased and blocked each other on the court. Finding an open spot on the bleachers wasn’t hard—the only other audience was a few parents and the kids’ friends. Bart and Jaime climbed to the top row, where no one could bother them as they popped open the first chip bag.</p><p>“So,” Jaime said. “Tell me about yourself.”</p><p>Bart rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you, like, a comic superfan? You know everything about me.”</p><p>“I know about <em> Impulse</em>,” said Jaime, “but I wanna learn more about Bart Allen. Like, uh, what’s your second favorite planet?”</p><p>Bart responded by holding up a Mars bar. Jaime laughed.</p><p>“My turn,” Bart said. “What is your <em> third </em> favorite hot drink?”</p><p>“Apple cider—reminds me of the orchard trips my family took when I was a kid.”</p><p>They went back and forth, asking questions only fourth-graders could think of in a refreshingly silly way. Scoreboard buzzes and laughter filled Jaime’s ears, though he wasn’t sure who was laughing louder. He hadn’t even noticed the practice game ended until the lights turned off and the custodian asked them to leave.</p><p>“Kicked out of high school, who would’ve thought,” Jaime said. He checked his phone. “If we run, we can make the next bus.”</p><p>“I’ll race you there!”</p><p>One by one, the marigold street lights flicked on as Jaime chased after Bart—even with a skirt and untied shoelaces, the latter was several paces faster. Jaime’s jacket flapped in the wind like an umbrella in a hurricane. When he got to the stop, the bus was already there, with Bart holding the door open.</p><p>“What do I win?”</p><p>Jaime grabbed the handrail. “I’ll make breakfast on Saturday. Anything you like.”</p><p>“Freeze-dried astronaut brownies?”</p><p>“Anything but that.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do anything. You’re already doing a lot.”</p><p>The flower was a little crooked, so Jaime leaned forward and adjusted it. “A contest’s a contest.”</p><p>Bart said, “If I stick around long enough, then maybe we can decide on a reward system.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~ Day 4 ~</b>
</p><p>Jaime stepped out of the shower, feeling the cool air dry his skin, freeing him of the stinging smell of antiseptic and capitalism. He threw on the comfiest pajamas he had and tossed the towel into the hamper.</p><p>Bart was in the living room, equally dressed down, flipping through the Netflix library, a bag of Doritos nestled against his side like a cat. He scooted aside, making room for Jaime on the sofa bed. </p><p>As he grabbed a handful of chips, Bart asked, “What sorts of stuff do you normally watch?”</p><p>“Depends,” Jaime said. “Usually I watch feel-good Hallmark movies while eating ice cream, but that’s more of an alone thing.”</p><p>Bart scrolled through the list. “What’s <em> ‘Arrow’</em>?”</p><p>“It’s the Green Arrow TV show. If I’m being honest, season one was fine, but it kinda goes downhill after season two.”</p><p>“What about <em> ‘Supergirl’</em>?”</p><p>Jaime opened his mouth to answer, but his phone rang from the bedroom. “<em>Un momento, por favor</em>.”</p><p>In hindsight, he should’ve checked the caller ID before answering, but in his defense, he was a little preoccupied with what movie he and Bart should watch.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Jaime Reyes, don’t tell me you’re flaking.”</p><p>Jaime cursed in Spanish. “<em>Lo siento</em>, Brenda. This week’s been hectic, and I completely forgot. Where are we supposed to meet again?”</p><p>Brenda gave him the address before saying, “I assume that means you forgot to find a date, huh? Don’t worry, this place is packed with people. Tye’s already finding someone for you.”</p><p>“How do you know I don’t have a date?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“You <em> literally </em> just told me you forgot.”</p><p>“Tell Tye to put his search party on hold, <em> please</em>. I’ll be there in a bit. <em> Hasta pronto</em>.”</p><p>Jaime hung up and threw the address into the GPS and slid down the hall in his socked feet.</p><p>“Can you do me a favor?”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“My friends invited me to go out tonight and if I don’t bring a plus-one, they’re gonna set me up with some rando.”</p><p>Bart raised his eyebrow, an amused smile forming on his face. “So you want me to be your date?”</p><p>“Fake date,” Jaime said. “God, I sound like a trope.”</p><p>Bart laughed and turned off the TV. “Give me five minutes, <em> babe</em>.”</p><p>“You’re really gonna milk this, aren’t you?”</p><p>“<em>Doi</em>. This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened since Jinny Hex dumped a milkshake all over G. Gordon Godfrey on national television.”</p><p>“Just be cool, please. Otherwise, my friends aren’t gonna let me hear the end of it.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, Jaime.” Bart flashed a pair of finger guns. “Cool is my middle name.”</p><p>Jaime crossed his arms. “Last I checked, it’s Henry.”</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, they hopped off the bus in front of a not-that-authentic Old West nightclub, hand in sweaty hand. Colorful lights and country-rock spilled onto the sidewalk. Next to the door, two middle-aged men were smoking menthols while trying to out-compliment each other. Bart refused to wipe the smirk off his face.</p><p>As soon as they entered, Jaime’s friends waved them over. Asami bounced in her seat. Brenda’s eyes narrowed. Tye downed the last of his drink and scanned both Jaime and Bart.</p><p>“Damn, Jaime, I didn’t think you were serious.”</p><p>“Har har.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Everyone, this is Bart. Bart, this is Tye, Brenda, and Asami.”</p><p>Bart gave a chipper wave and threw his arm around Jaime’s shoulder. “You forgot to mention that I’m your date, <em> babe</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Ay Dios mío</em>. Yep, Bart is my date,” Jaime said. (If the thought made his stomach flip, he elected to ignore it.)</p><p>Tye ordered another round of drinks. Jaime stayed close to Bart, watching as his half-ponytail bounced every time he threw his head back in a hyena cackle. Brenda chimed in here and there, but in her bouts of silence, she stared at Jaime as though the real him had been replaced by a cryptid imposter.</p><p>As Bart launched into a series of compliments about Asami’s purse, Jaime felt a tug. Before he could protest, someone yanked him away from the bar to a private corner near the restrooms.</p><p>“Alright, spill,” said Brenda.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“You haven’t been able to land a proper date in <em> years, </em> and suddenly you show up out of nowhere with the Incredible Hunk. Something’s up.”</p><p>Jaime glanced over at Bart, who was sipping his cosmopolitan while laughing at Tye’s joke. “He is pretty cute.”</p><p>“That’s not the point,” Brenda said. “Who is he and where did you get him?”</p><p>“Promise not to freak out if I tell you?”</p><p>“Is he a hitman you hired from the dark web to kill us?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then I think I’ll be fine.” She swirled her wine glass. </p><p>“Okay, here goes.” Jaime took a deep breath. “He’s a character from DC Comics who wound up in our dimension after fighting his evil clone, and now he lives in my apartment.”</p><p>There was a pause.</p><p>She laughed. “Yeah, sure. What’s actually going on, <em> hombre</em>?”</p><p>“I’m serious, Brenda. He’s a fictional character who came to life.”</p><p>“How much did you drink?”</p><p>He glanced down at his cocktail—still full, save for a couple of sips. “I’ll prove it to you.”</p><p>As bad as it sounded, he prayed the other comics were affected just as much as his. He opened the free comic book website and scrolled through the Flash catalog. As predicted, Impulse was missing from his designated panels. </p><p>“See? He’s not there. And the fandom’s freaking out ‘cause they all remember him but can’t find him <em> anywhere</em>.”</p><p>She took a sip. “Fine, I believe you, <em> only </em> because now’s not the time to try to come up with an alternative reason.” She followed Jaime’s gaze across the bar. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Like I’m living in a fanfiction,” Jaime said. “It’s almost comical.”</p><p>“And job-wise, what’s he doing now?”</p><p>Jaime ran his fingers through his hair. “Not sure. Since he’s not from here, he doesn’t have official documents or anything, so there are not a lot of places he can apply.”</p><p>Brenda nodded understandingly. “My <em> tía </em> works down in government records. I’m sure she can pull some strings and get him into the system—she’s done this stuff before. I’d wager that can be done in… a few weeks. A month, tops.”</p><p>“Really?” His eyes widened, and he grinned. “That’d be amazing!”</p><p>“Is he gonna… you know, go home?” she asked. “He’s gotta eventually, right?”</p><p>“Probably,” Jaime said. “The story won’t be complete without him.”</p><p>Brenda’s tone softened. “Do you <em> want </em> him to leave?”</p><p>“We should head back,” he said. “Before the others start wondering.”</p><p>As though the conversation never happened, Jaime slid onto a barstool and threw his arm around Bart, whose face was flushed from the alcohol. </p><p>“<em>Babe</em>, where were you?” Bart asked. “You just missed me doing Sweet Caroline.”</p><p>“Bathroom break.” Jaime gave Brenda a <em> “please don’t tell anyone” </em> look. She nodded.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything you missed. So Tye was telling me about how he plans on messing with his upstairs neighbor. Ooh, Tye, can I tell the story pretty please?”</p><p>“I’d be happy to hear it,” Jaime said.</p><p>Whatever worries he bears on his shoulders, whatever uncertainties bore at his mind, they can wait one more day.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~ Day 5 ~</b>
</p><p>Jaime rubbed his hands. “First order of business: finding a portal.”</p><p>“Easy peasy,” Bart said. “We’ll just swing by the grocery store and add that in with the eggs.”</p><p>Pacing back and forth around the living room, his bacon and eggs laying untouched on the coffee table, Jaime took a deep breath, trying to tie the strings of his mind around this confounding space-time parcel. </p><p>He snapped his fingers. “You came from a portal in the comics, so wouldn’t it make sense that we find another one for you to go through? There are, like, eighty-something years of comics. One of them’s gotta feature a dimensional portal.”</p><p>Bart scratched his chin. “Makes sense. How many comics are there in total?”</p><p>Jaime typed the question into his phone. “51,436.”</p><p>Bart’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?!?”</p><p>“DC’s been around for a while. The first Superman comic was written before World World II.”</p><p>Bart laughed. “Wait ‘till I Kon how <em> old </em> his dad is. So, which comic has a dimensional portal we can borrow?”</p><p>“That’s the problem,” Jaime said. “<em>I don’t know</em>.”</p><p>“Should we just… pick a random place and start?”</p><p>“Not <em> random</em>,” Jaime said, “but I have something.”</p><p>He retrieved a plastic crate from under his bed filled to the brim with paperback comics and plopped it onto the couch between them. </p><p>“We can go alphabetically. I’ll take Atom, you take Aquaman.”</p><p>“Can we order food first?”</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes. “We <em> just </em> ate.”</p><p>Bart pointed to Jaime’s breakfast plate. “Can I have that?”</p><p>Jaime slid it over to Bart, who nabbed it with a manic glee. With one hand, Bart held a fork, stuffing food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and with the other, he rapidly flipped through the pages.</p><p>“<em>Careful</em>,” Jaime said. “These are <em> limited edition</em>.”</p><p>Bart tilted his head. “You seem to care a lot about these.”</p><p>Jaime pursed his lips and sighed. “I didn’t have friends ‘till high school. These guys,” he gestured to the people on the covers, “kept me company.”</p><p>“Can I guess your favorite?”</p><p>Jaime smirked. “You know, I might say Booster Gold just to spite you.”</p><p>Bart gasped. “You wouldn’t!”</p><p>“I’m kidding, <em> hermano</em>.”</p><p>A few minutes passed of them scanning the pages for any rifts and portals, to no avail. Bart groaned and flopped back, shaking the entire sofa frame.</p><p>“This is boring.”</p><p>“You’re not even trying.”</p><p>“It’s like golf: I don’t need to try it to know.”</p><p>Jaime crossed his arms. “This isn’t a high school project where I’m gonna pick up your slack. We’re in this together, Bart.”</p><p>Bart tapped his fingers on his knee. “We could at least make this more fun, though. Reading is <em> hard </em> without super speed. I gotta sit down and stare at it and <em> ugh </em>.”</p><p>“I think I have a solution.”</p><p>From the jacket draped over the armrest, Jaime pulled out his house keys with a Rubik’s Cube key chain and a pack of gum. The cube was already scrambled, but Jaime moved the rows around a few more times before handing it to Bart, whose eyes lit up like a geek at Comic-Con. </p><p>It took them all morning to go through the A’s, B’s, and C’s of DC Comics. Whilst Jaime skimmed the pages, Bart took his time, consuming each story with a renewed interest as he unscrambled the Rubik’s Cube and blew pink bubblegum bubbles. The sofa bed was still pulled out, allowing them to lie on their bellies as they read, like preschoolers on the classroom floor. </p><p>Jaime paused and watched. He watched the way Bart’s ponytail bobbed up and down as he nodded along to what the characters were saying. The midday sun streamed through the windows, bringing the warm, vibrant color out of his countless freckles like a field of orange zinnias. He hummed an indecipherable tune.</p><p>A bandage peeked out from underneath his t-shirt. Jaime’s eyes flicked to it. “How are your injuries?”</p><p>“Better,” Bart said. “Still aches a little. I think I better wait ‘till they’re all better before jumping back into the fight.”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “I hear you.”</p><p>Bart rolled onto his back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. “You never told me what happens after issue twelve.”</p><p>“Is that something I <em> should </em> tell you?” Jaime asked. “Won’t that alter the story?”</p><p>“Depends. Do I stop Inertia and save the world?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good,” Bart said. “I bet the team and I throw the greatest victory party <em> ever </em>. Thad’s only my sworn enemy, after all.”</p><p>Jaime winced. It didn’t go past Bart.</p><p>“What else happens?”</p><p>“I really shouldn’t tell you.”</p><p>Bart propped himself up on his elbow with a playful scoff. “Come on, how bad can it be?”</p><p>“You die.”</p><p>The words felt wrong on Jaime’s tongue when that comic came out, and they felt even wronger with the title character sitting in front of him in the flesh. He wanted to take it back; to bottle it up and throw it into the Gulf of Mexico.</p><p>Bart’s face fell. “I <em> what?</em>”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything—”</p><p>“You’re fine. It’s not like you wrote it.” Eyes squeezed shut, he ran his fingers through his hair. Seconds felt like minutes. In a heartbreaking whisper, he asked, “Why me?”</p><p>Jaime hated that the only response he could give was a pathetic shrug.</p><p>“Whatever,” Bart said. “We should get back to work.”</p><p>“Right.” Jaime coughed. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here, though—most of my stuff’s not here.”</p><p>Bart glanced back and forth between Jaime as the crate. “You mean there’s more?”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “I don’t have enough space here, so everything else is back at my parents’ place.”</p><p>“Let’s head over, then.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t that seem a little suspicious? Going over just to rummage through my bedroom?”</p><p>“True.” Bart rested his chin in his hands. </p><p>Jaime glanced at the calendar in the kitchen, and a lightbulb lit up in his head. </p><p>“The holidays are in a few weeks, and I always go back home for them. I can bring you, introduce you as… I dunno, my roommate or something, and we can search my room then. Even if that doesn’t work, we can at least talk to my dad about getting you a job at his auto shop.”</p><p>Bart smiled. “That sounds like a pretty solid plan.”</p><p>“<em>Sí</em>,” Jaime said, “and we’ll make it happen <em> together</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:<br/>• Hijole = jeez<br/>• Qué diablos = what the hell<br/>• Ese = dude<br/>• Hermano = bro<br/>• Un momento, por favor = one moment, please<br/>• Lo siento = I’m sorry<br/>• Hasta pronto = see you soon<br/>• Ay Díos mio = Oh Lord<br/>• Hombre = man<br/>• Tía = aunt<br/>• Sí = yes</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Bart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The lyrics (bolded and italicized) in this are from the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZ_I0KZvezw"><em>Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now</em></a> by Starships, which I used the first verse and pre-chorus of.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>~ Day 29 ~</strong>
</p><p>Losing his powers had its perks. One of them was that it forced him to slow down and take in the world around him.</p><p>Take the suburbs, for instance. Bart had seen the suburbs when he lived with the Garricks. But there was always an air of hurry around them. Gotta head to school, gotta go on patrol, gotta save the world <em>again</em>. Something always seemed to be on fire.</p><p>El Paso wasn’t like that.</p><p>Bart pressed his face against the window like a child at the aquarium. The golden dunes were nothing like the countless desert missions he’d been on—there was no villain’s compound beneath the sand or assassins lurking behind cacti. He felt like he was in a postcard. Even with the slight wintry chill browning the vegetation, the view was an exquisite painting that belonged in a museum. </p><p>“Having fun there?”</p><p>Bart turned out to see Jaime, phone in one hand, offering a purple bag with red straw-shaped corn chips with the other.</p><p>“Honestly, yeah.” Bart tossed a couple of chips into his mouth. “It’s <em>way </em>prettier than the deserts in my wor—<em>HOT HOT HOT! WATER! I NEED WATER!</em>”</p><p>Laughing, Jaime handed Bart an open bottle.</p><p>Bart guzzled the entire bottle, attempting to quell the wildfire spreading throughout his mouth. His throat burned and his nose ran. He coughed into his shirt, drawing stares from other passengers.</p><p>“What the heck, man?!?”</p><p>“I take it you don’t have Takis in your dimension,” Jaime said, closing the camera and pulling up a group chat.</p><p>Bart threw the empty bottle at Jaime’s head. “That was a dirty trick!”</p><p>“You gotta admit it’s funny.”</p><p>Arms crossed, Bart slumped back in his seat, pouting—which only made Jaime laugh harder.</p><p>His phone buzzed. Bart opened the message to find that Jaime sent a video of the ordeal to everyone in their friend group, with Brenda responding, <em>“Yep, he’s our token white guy.” </em> His faux-upset facade cracked when he played the video.</p><p>“Fine, you win. That was pretty funny.”</p><p>Bart yawned and stretched, smacking Jaime in the face. </p><p>“Shoot, I’m so sorry! I was just gonna take a nap and… you know.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Jaime said. “You probably don’t wanna sleep anyway since this is our stop.”</p><p>Bart tugged a backpack out from under his seat—black with pink cat ears, borrowed from Brenda—and zipped his jacket. The two shared a nod before Jaime slapped the red stop button.</p><p>The bus stopped, and they hopped off at a street corner. Two roads intersected to create a four-way that looked about as busy as one would expect from the El Paso outskirts. Texas state flags hung from every building. People were all over the place. Some anxiously darted between stores, scouring for last-minute holiday essentials. Others sat at the café, slowly sipping their drinks. When Bart inhaled, he picked up bits and pieces of everything in the air—motor oil, hickory smoke, mint chocolate. </p><p>They passed a Santa Claus standing by a red donation pot outside a craft store, ringing his brass bell. Jaime gave a strained smile to the man but didn’t offer any of the spare change Bart knew he had.</p><p>Once they were out of the man’s earshot, Bart asked, “Why didn’t you give anything?”</p><p>Jaime checked over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “I’d rather give my money to an organization that <em> doesn’t </em> lobby against my existence.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Look around, <em> ese </em>.”</p><p>Bart blinked, and it was as though a jagged knife sliced through his idyllic veil of this world. People stared and sneered because… what? Because his jacket sleeve had a rainbow badge? Because he had butterfly clips and pink lipstick that looked absolutely <em>fabulous </em>on him? One woman even covered her son’s eyes, because <em> God forbid </em>the kid embraced individual expression, right?</p><p>“They’re just jealous they can’t pull it off,” Bart said.</p><p>“I wish things were that simple,” said Jaime. “We’re almost at the restaurant. My dad already saved us a seat.”</p><p>The restaurant was quaint but robust. Its plain, flamingo-pink, stucco-walled exterior didn’t do the inside justice. A Mexican flag served as the curtain between the main area and the kitchen. The spicy and savory aroma filled the space. Throughout the busy dining room, servers referred to customers by name and the customers asked how the chef’s family is doing. It was obvious this used to be a Chinese place because rather than covering the bamboo forest mural, someone had simply painted sombreros on the pandas.</p><p>Standing at the register was a teenage girl chewing gum while scrolling through her phone. Her black uniform was embellished with woven friendship bracelets, doodled-on purple Converses, and a rhinestone-studded belt. Her wavy hair fell past her shoulders—jet black, like Jaime.</p><p>She looked up. “<em>Bienvenidos</em>, table for—” Her fake-cheery smile turned into a smirk of familiarity when she saw Jaime. “Never mind, it’s just you.”</p><p>Jaime laughed. “Good to see you too.” He wrapped her in a one-armed hug and ruffled her hair despite her protests. “Milagro, meet Bart. Bart, this is my <em>baby sister </em> , Milagro. Emphasis on <em> ‘baby’</em>.”</p><p>Milagro ducked out of his grip. “I’m <em> not </em> a baby.” She scanned Bart up and down before humming, impressed. “<em>Dile a tu novio que necesito su rutina de cuidado de la piel</em>.”</p><p>Jaime said, “She wants your skincare routi—<em>espera, ¿cómo lo llamaste?</em>”</p><p>But she had already gotten the menus and showed them to a corner booth, where a man with a blue jumpsuit and walking stick sipped his water. A smile broke out on his face when he saw Jaime, and based on the way the two embraced, Bart could only assume this was Jaime’s father.</p><p>“<em>¿Cómo estás, mijo? </em> How’s school going?”</p><p>“It’s <em>going</em>,” Jaime said, chuckling softly. “<em>Papá</em>, there’s someone I want you to meet.”</p><p>Bart held out his hand. “Bart Allen. I’m Jaime’s roommate.”</p><p>“I didn’t know Jaime had a roommate.” The man shook Bart’s hand. “Alberto Reyes.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes.”</p><p>“Please, call me Alberto.” He motioned for them to sit.</p><p>They placed their orders with a server who turned out to be Jaime’s cousin and had a brief chat with the chef, AKA Jaime’s grandmother. Bart could stay in El Paso for this moment and this moment alone, feeling at home in a restaurant full of friendly strangers. The booth was a bit of a squeeze, so every time Bart moved his arm, it brushed against Jaime’s. Not that he minded.</p><p>Jaime asked his dad, “How’s the shop doing?”</p><p>Alberto sighed. “It’s seen better days. Luis has been calling in sick more often than not, so we’re short-staffed and customers are getting… <em> cómo se dice </em>…” </p><p>“Antsy?” Jaime asked. “That’s probably not the right word.”</p><p>“Close enough,” Alberto said. “It’s been hard, but I’ll figure out a way.”</p><p>“I can help,” Bart blurted.</p><p>Both of the heads at the table turned toward him. Alberto raised an eyebrow. “You’ve worked in a garage?”</p><p>“Not exactly.” Under the table, Bart drummed his fingers against his knee. “But I worked in a motor factory, so I know my way around cars. Got the calluses to prove it.” He held up his hands. “Plus, I’ve been looking for a job ever since I got here.”</p><p>“Interesting.” Alberto folded his hands. “Do you think you can come by Monday with your information to fill out the paperwork?”</p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>“He doesn’t have any,” Jaime says. “Documents, that is. <em> La tía de </em> Brenda <em> está trabajando en eso</em>.”</p><p>Alberto nodded. “I understand. Can I at least ask where…”</p><p>Bart and Jaime answered at the same time.</p><p>“Canada,” said Jaime.</p><p>“Poland,” said Bart.</p><p>Crossing his arms, Alberto glanced between them. Jaime shrunk into his seat.</p><p>“I-it’s a town in Canada called Poland,” Bart said. “Poland, Canada. Yep, that’s a real place.”</p><p>“Please stop talking,” Jaime mumbled.</p><p>Alberto looked at Jaime. “<em>Tienes el gusto peculiar en hombres</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Dímelo a mí</em>.”</p><p>After lunch, Alberto headed back to work while Bart and Jaime walked to the Reyes house to unpack and unwind, passing infamous landmarks like an old-fashioned ice cream parlor and a traffic cone permanently embedded in the sidewalk. </p><p>The house was, like the rest of the suburbs, wonderfully ordinary. A handmade wreath hung from the front door, with plant pots decorating either side of the porch. Twinkling white Christmas lights lined the roof. A rocking bench overlooked the front yard, and Bart could easily imagine little Jaime and his sister playing while their parents watched. </p><p>Inside, the hallway divided the kitchen and living room. Shiny copper pans hung from hooks by the sink. Flowers decorated the windowsill. White sunbeams stretched across the wooden floor. Bart was tempted to lie down in its warmth and nap like a cat. </p><p>The kitchen wasn’t decorated, but the living room was. A Christmas tree stood in one corner, decked out in shimmering silver tinsel and homemade decorations with a star that almost touched the ceiling. Picture frames lined the mantle, and if he could, he’d look at them all afternoon like an art gallery. Winter-themed cushions and throw blankets lined the couch, and a mountain of home improvement magazines covered the coffee table. </p><p>“This way,” Jaime said. “My mom’s at work so we can look through my other comics in the meantime.”</p><p>“Huh?” Bart blinked.</p><p>“The comics. You know, finding you a portal back home?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Let’s… do that, I guess.”</p><p>If Jaime’s apartment was a superhero shrine, then his bedroom was a palace temple. Bart had to fight back his panic instinct when the first thing he made eye contact with was a life-size cardboard cutout of the Dark Knight. </p><p>“Shoot,” Jaime said. “Just let me move that.” He turned the Batman around to face the wall, like a child being put in the time-out corner. “What letter did we leave off on?”</p><p>“G; we finish the Green Arrow ones and we were gonna start on Green Lantern.” </p><p>Bart drew a fidget spinner from his pocket, trying not to think too much about the Wonder Woman action figures, Nightwing bedspread, Zatanna posters, or Doctor Fate decal. The Krypto plushie was cute, but seeing the faces of everyone he knew <em>unnerved </em>him Forget dimension travel—if he gets homesick, he can just come back here (though something in the back of his mind told him that wouldn’t be a problem).</p><p>Jaime opened his closet. Crates lined the top shelf and cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other on the floor, with empty clothing hangers sandwiched in the limited space between. Everything was labeled. </p><p>Jaime pulled a crate from on top. “I should probably give the disclaimer that I only have the Lantern comics from 1992 onward, so none of the Golden Age stuff.”</p><p>Bart blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Do we <em>have </em>to do this right now? It’s Christmas weekend. We should <em> unwind, chill-hang, take it easy</em>.”</p><p>“If we wanna get you home, then it’s not something we wanna put off.” Jaime handed Bart a small stack.</p><p>Bart picked up the top one. “Uh, who’s Green Goblin?”</p><p>“Wrong fandom. How did that even get there?” Jaime tossed it onto the computer desk. </p><p>Sprawled out on the rough carpet (because Bart refused to sit on Dick Grayson’s face), the two analyzed every comic. He felt like a college student cramming the night before a final with his roommate. </p><p>One hour turned to three. Bart glanced up from the Harley Quinn one-shot to see Jaime biting his lip, scanning the panels. The golden hour light warmed them both, but Jaime pulled it off better. A speck of lint floated through the air, latching onto one of the wispy black baby hairs. </p><p>Bart gestured. “You got a little something.”</p><p>“Where?” Jaime swiped at his hair, but the speck stayed.</p><p>“I got it.” Bart plucked it from Jaime’s hair, playfully smirking. “Probably got stuck there ‘cause of all that grease, Danny Zuko.”</p><p>“Ha ha,” Jaime said.</p><p>Someone called Jaime’s name. Before Jaime could respond, however, the bedroom door opened. A middle-aged woman with glasses and a paramedic’s uniform peered in.</p><p>“<em>Mamá!</em>” Jaime scrambled up to greet her with a hug. “I missed you.”</p><p>“I missed you too, <em> mijito</em>,” she said. She looked over Jaime’s shoulder at Bart and placed a hand on her hip. “And it seems like I’ve missed a lot of other things too. You’re not going to introduce me to your friend, Jaime?”</p><p>“Yeah, Jaime, not gonna introduce me?” Bart teased.</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes, smiling. “This is my roommate, Bart. I was just showing him my comic collection.”</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Bart. I’m Bianca,” she said. “And Jaime, Milagro’s been talking about making cookies with you all week, so I need you to clean the kitchen before she goes down there.”</p><p>“I’ll help,” Bart said.</p><p>“Nonsense,” said Bianca. “You’re the guest. Relax and let us take care of everything.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Bart asked. “‘Cause Jaime and I do chores together at home all the time.”</p><p>“I insist.”</p><p>Jaime said, “I won’t be long, <em> hermano</em>.”</p><p>No sooner after he left did his sister march in and turn on the computer, sticking in a hairbrush-shaped USB. She was no longer in her restaurant uniform, but rather Taylor Swift pajamas and messy pigtails.</p><p>“Um, hey, Milagro,” Bart said. “Can I help you?”</p><p>“I just need to download some photos,” she said. “I saved them onto the desktop instead of the cloud.”</p><p>As she highlighted a row of photos, Bart asked, “Can I ask what those are?”</p><p>“Fan art,” she said. “I bought this sticker maker the other day, and I wanna make a new Starfire sticker to replace the old one on my phone case. She’s my favorite Teen Titan.”</p><p>“You’re into comics too?”</p><p>“Yep, but don’t tell Jaime.” She clicked the download button. “He’ll try to geek out with me twenty-four-seven, and I’m not about that. Plus, we’re siblings; we’re not <em>supposed </em>to like the same stuff. Besides, I’m more of a Marvel person—I <em> stan </em> America Chavez.”</p><p>Bart nodded. “Say, while you’re there, can you do me a favor?”</p><p>“Sure,” she said.</p><p>“Can you search up if any DC Comics that contain interdimensional portals are for sale?”</p><p>She turned around in the swivel chair. “That’s oddly specific.”</p><p>“It’s, uh, for Jaime’s birthday.”</p><p>“Jaime’s birthday is not for another month.”</p><p>He chuckled nervously. “Doesn’t hurt to get a head start.”</p><p>Slowly, Milagro turned back to the computer. Her nails clicked against the keys and she twirled a piece of her hair as she waited for the results to load.</p><p>“There’s currently a Hawkman 1986 special up for auction that features what you’re looking for. Jaime doesn’t own any Hawkman comics—I’ve read everything he has—but he has a Funko Pop, so that might make a good gift.” She spun around to face Bart, eyes narrowing. “How did you two meet, anyway?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, the usual.”</p><p>“I’m fifteen, I don’t know what ‘the usual’ means.”</p><p>“Uh… internet?”</p><p>“Seems unlike Jaime to move in with a guy he met online.” Milagro stood up and unplugged the thumb drive. “Then again, he <em>does</em> seem a little different around you.”</p><p>From downstairs, Jaime shouted, “Mil, the kitchen’s done if you wanna make cookies!”</p><p>“Coming!” She then said to Bart, “If Jaime asks, I did <em> not </em> touch his computer.”</p><p>He made a lip sealing motion and slid into the squeaky chair. </p><p>But when he clicked on the bidding icon, it took him to a page saying, <em> “This item had already been sold.” </em></p><p>“Damnit.” Bart ran his hand over his face.</p><p>Alright, so that was one <em>very minor </em>setback. No biggie. At least he knew where to look, so he and Jaime don’t have to waste any more hours mindlessly flipping through the pages. </p><p>Bart took a trip downstairs to see what the Reyes siblings were up to. He stopped at the entrance of the kitchen because the floor was covered in cookware from cabinet-rummaging. Flour dusted the countertop; dirty mixing bowls soaked in the sink. A long piece of dough stretched over two cutting boards, where Jaime and Milagro carved shapes with butter knives while <em> Winter Wonderland </em>played over the radio. Jaime sang into a spoon. Milagro harmonized.</p><p>A soft gasp drew Bart away from the mesmerizing scene. He turned his head to find Bianca staring. </p><p>Her hand flew to her mouth. “He’s <em> singing</em>.”</p><p>“Mrs. Reyes, are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” She wiped the corners of her eyes. “I wanted to talk to you, in fact. Let’s take a walk.”</p><p>Though there was some cloud cover, the sky was still its late afternoon blue. A chill had set in. Dry leaves spilled onto the sidewalk. They crunched underfoot, as though it was Thanksgiving rather than Christmas weekend. He smelled a bonfire. Bart pulled his jacket close as he waited for Bianca to say something. </p><p>After what felt like hours, she said, “You are something else.”</p><p>He chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”</p><p>They passed a stop sign into the second half of the neighborhood. </p><p>“How much has he been eating?” she asked.</p><p>Despite being three inches taller, he shifted under her steely gaze. “Uh… three meals a day? And we snack a lot in between.”</p><p>“And sleeping?”</p><p>“Eight hours. Ten on weekends, if we were out with friends the night before.”</p><p>Bianca paused, as though she didn’t believe him. “He’s going out with his friends?”</p><p>“Is he not supposed to do that?”</p><p>“The opposite, in fact. I’ve been trying to get him to socialize since he graduated.”</p><p>“He didn’t always do that?”</p><p>She shook her head. </p><p>Moments passed before she said, “I don’t know where you came from or who you are in relation to my son. All I know is I haven’t heard him sing like that in years.” </p><p>She stopped so suddenly that Bart almost tripped. Any words his brain could conjure died in his throat. </p><p>“I don’t believe in shovel talks,” Bianca said, “but after seeing the effect you have on him, I have one rule for you.”</p><p>He nodded, too dumbfounded to say anything else.</p><p>She said, “You are, <em> under no circumstances</em>, allowed to make him unhappy.”</p><p>“I won’t,” he said. “Cross my heart.”</p><p>Bianca’s words stayed with him throughout the evening and as he and Jaime got ready for bed. </p><p>The two had spent several minutes debating who should get the bed and who should sleep on the floor before they both ultimately wound up camping out on the carpet. They spent another hour making random conversation while listening to Milagro recording a TikTok in the other room. Jaime had snuck up a few cookies that were meant for tomorrow. At one point, they played footsie through the sleeping bags like dolphins, giggling when Milagro banged on the wall and told them to shut up.</p><p>But by the time Alberto checked in, Jaime was out like a light, and Bart was left with his own thoughts.</p><p>If it was truly the case that he brought something to Jaime’s life, then leaving this world meant breaking the promise he made to Bianca. Bart couldn’t do that. No piece of him could conceive the thought. Besides, even if he only thought of himself, the results would be all the same.</p><p>The neighbor’s rooftop sleigh reminded him of the reason they were here: <em> Christmas</em>. Yet Bart had nothing to give, not even to the guy who’s done <em>everything </em>for him. All the stores were closed tomorrow, meaning he couldn’t buy anything.</p><p>He rolled over. Despite the dark, he had a clear view of the contents under the bed. An old sketchbook drew his attention; next to that, a box of colored pencils.</p><p>Jaime snored. Bart tiptoed over the comic book boxes and slipped into the bathroom.</p><p>Stretching his legs across the bathtub, he got to work.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 30 ~</strong>
</p><p>Bart woke up to the shower curtain being yanked aside and Jaime screaming. Quickly, he tore the drawing out of the sketchpad and slipped it down his shirt. </p><p>“What are you doing in here?!?”</p><p>“I could say the same to you!”</p><p>“I was gonna take a shower! Why are you sleeping in the tub?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to!”</p><p>“That doesn’t answer my question!”</p><p>He scrambled out; he probably did a horrible job of hiding the art supplies, but he didn’t care. Jaime got exactly two words of a question out before Bart let the bathroom door close behind him with a resounding <em>thud</em>.</p><p>A breath of relief left his lungs. He hid the drawing in his backpack before throwing on a clean outfit and tossing his hair in a ponytail. Only after the shower stopped did Bart knock again, toothbrush in hand.</p><p>The door swung open to reveal one confused and annoyed Jaime Reyes wearing only a pair of sweatpants. </p><p>Bart’s ears reddened. “Uh… Merry Christmas?”</p><p>“<em>En retrospectiva, debería haberla visto venir</em>.”</p><p>After a quick freshening-up and making sure the present was still hidden, Bart went downstairs to find the entire family staring out the window.</p><p>“Bart, look!” Milagro exclaimed. “It’s snowing!”</p><p>“Calm down, <em> mija</em>,” Bianca said. “The forecast says it will be a couple inches at most.”</p><p>“<em>Mamá</em>, that’s basically a couple feet for Texas,” Jaime said.</p><p>“It’s a Christmas miracle!” said Milagro.</p><p>Alberto grunted. “It’s an added chore, is what it is. Jaime, once the snow lets up, I need you to help me clean the driveway.”</p><p>“I can help,” Bart said. “It’ll make the job faster.”</p><p>Bianca and Alberto exchanged glances before reluctantly agreeing. After a hearty Christmas breakfast, when the snow lightened up, Bart and Jaime each grabbed a shovel and headed to the driveway. Compared to Bart’s light jacket and earmuffs, Jaime was bundled from head to toe in his puffy coat, mittens, hat, two scarves, and boots.</p><p>“Nice,” Bart said. “All you’re missing now is the bubble wrap—you know how icy it can get.”</p><p>“Quit bullying me, I’m not used to the cold,” Jaime said. “We can divide the driveway in half.”</p><p>“What do I get if I finish first?”</p><p>Jaime crossed his arms. “Is everything a contest with you?”</p><p>“Blame it on my youth,” Bart said. “This is what happens when kids are raised on technology.”</p><p>Jaime thought for a second. “How about… winner gets to pick what we do with the rest of our snow day?”</p><p>“You’re on!”</p><p>Plastic scraped against concrete as Bart scooped shovelfuls of nature’s half-snow, half-sludge concoction into the growing drift along the edge. The flakes falling from the sky grew smaller until they were indistinguishable from the dust constantly hanging in the air. </p><p>Jaime snickered. Bart whirled around to find that half of the driveway already done. The shovel laid abandoned, leaning against the basketball pole as Jaime sprinkled handfuls of salt over the driveway.</p><p>Bart’s jaw dropped. “That’s cheating!” </p><p>“No, it’s not,” Jaime said. “You wanted a contest but never set any ground rules, so anything is fair game. Now hurry, I wanna get to the rink before it gets too crowded.”</p><p>Apparently, everyone in El Paso has the same idea, for the ice rink was bustling by the time the two arrived. Most people stuck to the outer edges. The sweet smell of hot chocolate floated from the concessions stand and a lively Mariah Carey song played over the large ceiling speakers. Since they were indoors, Jaime shed some of his ridiculous layers.</p><p>Gulping, Bart strapped on his rental skis. Truth be told, he never skated before, but Jaime won their little bet. Plus, it was embarrassing to admit he couldn’t do something most folks learn by the time they’re twelve. </p><p>Jaime glided along the ice while Bart staggered just to make it to the entrance gate, knees wobbling like a rickety bicycle wheel. His knuckles turned white against the ledge. Fear coursed through his veins. </p><p>
  <em> Bad idea. Abort mission. </em>
</p><p>“Come on, Bart.”</p><p>“Y-yep,” Bart said. “Lemme just—” </p><p>He let go, only to slip in place like a cartoon character. Before gravity could get the best of him, he gripped the ledge again.</p><p>“You don’t know how to skate.” It came out as more of a statement than a question.</p><p>Bart nodded, face reddening for the second time that morning. “Apparently the simulation they raised me in didn’t come with a winter sports DLC.”</p><p>Jaime held out a hand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all learn at different paces.”</p><p>Bart kept one hand on the ledge whilst letting Jaime guide him. The skates scraped against the ice, grinding it into fine snowy lines. He wavered. </p><p>“You can let go,” Jaime said. “<em>I got you</em>.”</p><p>“What if I fall?”</p><p>“That’s the learning process.”</p><p>Bart took a deep breath. His fingers left the ledge. </p><p>“You good?” Jaime asked.</p><p>Bart nodded, his gold eyes locked on Jaime’s brown ones as they ventured into The Great Middle. </p><p>Cruising on the frictionless ice was something else. Like a dancer navigating his stage, Jaime guided Bart through every step and swerve. The holes in their gloved aligned, and that little capillary was all he needed to keep warm. It was <em>magic</em>. Magic that could rival Zatanna’s. Although his legs were wobbly, he had Jaime, which meant everything was going to be okay. For once, he allowed his mind to slow down as took a mental picture of the moment.</p><p>They wound up staying a whopping four hours instead of their intended one. Had it not been for the rink closing early, Bart had a feeling they would’ve glided forever. His cheeks were pink and fingertips numb. Fatigue set in his muscles.</p><p>A sharp sting shot through his knee. While Jaime returned the skates, Bart rolled up his pant leg. The area was pink and hurt to touch, but he’s dealt with worse. He’ll survive. He rolled it back down as Jaime returned.</p><p>“My mom just texted. Dinner’s gonna be ready once she gets Milagro to stop building snowmen using glow sticks as eyes.”</p><p>“Awesome.” Bart pulled himself up, biting back a groan. “Don’t wanna keep them waiting.”</p><p>Jaime furrowed his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Yep!” He plastered on a trademark Impulse smile. “All fine and dandy! C’mon, I call dibs on your mom’s Christmas salad.”</p><p>Dinner was delicious, but the entire time he fixated on the growing pain pulsing from his prosthetic. He talked less, only answering when addressed and half-listening to the rest of the Reyes’s Spanglish repartee. Stuffing food in his mouth helped to avoid conversation, for he feared accidentally letting out a cry of pain and causing a fuss.</p><p>As soon as he finished his second helping of dessert, he excused himself and slipped into Jaime’s room. </p><p>Sitting on the edge of the Nightwing face bed, Bart yanked his pant leg up, wincing as the denim chafed the tender skin beneath. The skin around his knee was now an angry scarlet and spreading like a rain cloud. He lowered himself onto the mattress and placed a pillow under his knee.</p><p>Bart rolled over. Maybe he could sleep it off. Yeah, that’s it. He let his eyes slide shut despite the lights being on.</p><p>Someone poked him. He didn’t need to look to know it was Jaime.</p><p>“You okay, <em> ese </em>?”</p><p>Bart mumbled “I’m fine” into a pillow. Only, it came out as more of a “<em>Mmfm</em>.” </p><p>Jaime placed a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Look, I know we haven’t known each other for long, but we’re in the same strange situation together. We gotta be honest with each other if we’re gonna make this work.”</p><p>The longer Bart stayed, the more he discovered tendencies that weren’t compatible with life here. Perhaps it was the lingering influence of being surrounded by heroes twenty-four-seven; people who believed they were invincible—who believed they could single-handedly carry the world on their shoulders. Heroes were supposed to know everything. To err is human, but he could never afford that luxury.</p><p>Here, though, in a place where admitting weakness didn’t put him in mortal danger, he had no reason <em>not </em>to say something.</p><p>“It’s my knee,” he said. “Prosthetic’s been acting up since we got back from ice skating. Must’ve overexerted it.”</p><p>Jaime’s expression softened. “You should’ve said something, <em> hermano</em>.”</p><p>“It’s not something I’m used to doing.”</p><p>Jaime disappeared and reappeared a moment later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel, a yellow tube, a bottle of water, and two Advil pills.</p><p>“My dad says you can borrow some of his pain cream,” Jaime said. He handed the water and pill. “Take this first—let’s see how well it works.”</p><p>Bart did as he was told before taking the ice pack. “Thank you. For letting me ask for help.”</p><p>Jaime faltered. Bart didn’t blame him.</p><p>“I-I got something for you. Er, I made it.” Bart moved to get up, but Jaime stopped him.</p><p>“Wherever it is, I can get it,” Jaime said. “And I can grab my gift for you too.”</p><p>“It’s in my backpack,” Bart said. “The rolled-up paper.”</p><p>As he unrolled the scroll-like paper, Jaime’s hand flew to his mouth. Bart smiled.</p><p>“It’s <em>amazing</em>,” Jaime said. “<em>Holy sh</em>—dude, you’re <em> talented</em>.”</p><p>Bart shrugged nonchalantly. “I try.”</p><p>“It makes mine look super lame and uncreative now.” Jaime dug through his bag before drawing a yellow envelope no larger than an index card. “You don’t have to accept it if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, but…” He held out the envelope.</p><p>Bart carefully ran his pinky nail through the sticky seal. He shook it twice. A shiny brass key fell into his palm. He ran his finger along the dull ridges, turning it over as the light bounced off the tip of the shaft. Carved on the head were the characters <em> “4C”</em>.</p><p>“I asked the landlord to make a copy of the key,” Jaime said. “Now you don’t have to rely on me to let you in.” He scratched the back of his head. “Also, if you want, I can add you to the lease as an official roommate.”</p><p>Call Bart impulsive, but any apprehension that should’ve been there was absent. He had a <em> home</em>. A <em> friend</em>. He threw his arms around Jaime, injury be damned. Even better was when he felt Jaime’s arms wrap around him.</p><p>“I never knew how much I wanted this,” he said. “<em>Thank you</em>.”</p><p>Jaime brought a hand between Bart’s shoulders. “Merry Christmas, <em> amigo</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 40 ~</strong>
</p><p><em> Thank God </em> Bart had that house key because he didn’t see how else he could enter the apartment under the current circumstances. He plopped the shopping bags on the kitchen counter and fished out the bottle of honey-colored syrup.</p><p>“Alright.” He set the bottle between the tissue box and the cough drops on Jaime’s nightstand. “I got the orange one just like you asked. Now, will you <em> please </em> take the medicine?”</p><p>From beneath the mound of comforters, there was a cough, followed by a raspy, “I don’t wanna.”</p><p>“Seriously? I went all the way to Walgreens just to get the flavor you wanted.” Bart poured the cough syrup into the tiny measuring cup and thrust it toward Jaime. “Here, take it.”</p><p>“I don’t need it.” Jaime sneezed. “I’m <em> fine</em>.” He sneezed again.</p><p>“Oh my God, quit being a baby and <em>just</em> <em>take it already</em>.”</p><p>Curled up in a blanket croissant, Jaime shook his head. Bart internally cursed whichever patient came in with the bug. Brushing aside the sweat-spiked locks, he pressed a hand against Jaime’s forehead.</p><p>“Fever’s gone down, but you still need to take your medicine.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>. That’s Spanish for ‘no’.”</p><p>Bart groaned. “What are you, five? It’ll be done in three seconds.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why are you like this?”</p><p>“‘Cause I wanna!”</p><p>“Fine, be that way.” </p><p>Taking the bottle with him, Bart headed to the kitchen to make himself a well-deserved snack, and Mister Whiney McStubbornbutt won’t get any. He poured orange soda and vanilla ice cream into a glass. His gaze traveled from the sugary drink to the medicine bottle.</p><p>He returned to the room with a soda float and a straw. </p><p>“I told you, I don’t need the medicine,” said Jaime.</p><p>“‘Course you don’t,” Bart said. “But you haven’t eaten anything all day. Can you at least finish this for me?”</p><p>Jaime’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. He emptied the glass in thirty seconds and handed it back to Bart before curling back up, a content smile on his face. </p><p>Bart ran his fingers through Jaime’s hair, making it stick up in all different directions. “Get some sleep.”</p><p>Jaime was out cold by the time Bart turned out the lights and gently closed the door. Bart made himself a float before flopping onto the unmade sofa bed. He flipped through the Netflix catalog. A show named <em> Smallville </em>caught his attention. </p><p>Bart chuckled. He didn’t need some TV show to know what that place was like. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the wind on his face as he ran through the never-ending rolling wheat fields. Superboy invited him to the farm on more than one occasion. The place smelled like wildflowers, apple pie, and Ma Kent’s perfume. Bart remembered helping them name their newborn foal. And Krypto was there—cute little fella.</p><p>Next in the catalog was a series called <em> Gotham</em>.</p><p>The Dark Knight’s territory. Dark, gritty, filled with so many back alleys that not even Bart could run them all. He’d been there for his fair share, mainly to help Robin on patrols. The smell of greasy Batburgers and Red Hood’s cigarettes drifted down the run-down blocks. Cars honked. The mysterious Wayne Manor loomed over the rocky cliffs, and foghorns blared in the harbor. They found a stray cat which they gave to Tim’s brother, and they had a contest to see who could do the best Batman impression.</p><p>Bart wound up choosing neither of those, instead setting on a Winter Olympics rerun.</p><p>Did his friends miss him? Were they wondering where he was? Would they look?</p><p>His mind said yes, but doubt clawed at his chest, carving pathways for insecurities he didn’t even know he <em>had </em>until he entered this dimension. </p><p>Here, he didn’t have powers and wasn’t a prominent public figure. The name “Bart Allen” held no significance outside of an internet fandom. Outside of Jaime’s immediate circle, Bart had no contacts and no clue how to fit in. He was a nobody—he had no stake in the grand scheme of things. </p><p>But he had a kitchen full of goodies. He had Milagro’s homemade glitter stickers. Asami’s outfit swaps. Brenda’s makeup tips. He laughed with Tye over drinks and gossiped with Alberto between car repairs. He could express himself in ways the machine of the entertainment industry would never allow. He had <em> Jaime</em>. And together they had movie marathons, lazy weekend brunches, rainy days, lilted Spanglish colloquialisms, and arm-wrestling over the last double-stuffed Oreo. </p><p>He couldn’t recall a time in his world where he could watch TV without it cutting to breaking news about the Apocalypse of the Week. Perhaps he was better off here. He certainly <em>felt </em>better here. Jaime even said he was going to die in the comics; why would Bart want to return to that world? Here wasn’t about survival. Here, he had a second chance at life.</p><p>Obligation tugged at one arm; desire at the other. He turned off the TV and flicked off the lights, letting the living room bathe in the lavender light. Bart pulled the covers over his body.</p><p>He was probably overthinking things. It was <em>painfully </em>obvious that he was going to have to return and save the world or whatever, getting himself while doing so. Sad as it may be, it’s how things are. To think he could live a full, peaceful life was a delusion. After all, everyone knows heroes don’t get happy endings.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 50 ~</strong>
</p><p>Cheesy calzones. Hot, crispy spring rolls. Sweet, fruit-filled strawberry shortcake with a cloud of whipped cream on top. Bart didn’t think these three would smell good together, by it was <em>heavenly</em>. And they <em>tasted </em>even better. He shoved another forkful in his mouth.</p><p>Jaime laughed. “Slow down, <em> ese</em>. You can only digest so much at a time.”</p><p>“I <em> can’t</em>,” Bart said between bites. “<em>It’s too good</em>.”</p><p><em> Everything </em>about the boardwalk was too good. Bart couldn’t pin down his favorite part. Vibrant food trucks lined both sides of a raised wooden path, serving a world tour in a space the size of a parking lot. String lights zigzagged across the aisle like a parade of fireflies. Music played over the speakers. On the grassy lawn, some folks sat at picnic tables while others used the empty middle space for dancing or games of tag. Maybe it was the speedster in him, or maybe it was <em>just </em>him, but he could die happy right here, right now (not that he wanted to; there was still so much to do).</p><p>Jaime threw an arm around Bart’s shoulder. “Well save some room, <em> amigo</em>, because the best is yet to come.”</p><p>Bart’s eyes widened. “<em>There’s more?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Hijole</em>, how do you do that?”</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>Jaime gestured uselessly. “That… that <em> thing </em> with your eyes.”</p><p>“What thing?”</p><p>“I… I don’t know how to explain it. Your eyes do this thing when you get all excited where they get all wide and shiny and… the best way I can describe it is like a cross between a small child, a golden retriever, and an anime character. It makes me wanna find <em> more </em> exciting activities to do.”</p><p>Bart paused. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“<em>No me vengas con ese toro</em>. I think you do it on purpose,” Jaime said fake-accusingly. “You’re on a mission to drain my bank account by taking you out for fun stuff.”</p><p>“Drat!” Bart said. “My cover is blown. You’ve foiled my evil plans once again!”</p><p>Jaime mimed loading a finger gun and pointed it at Bart. In a godawful British accent, he said, “The name’s Reyes. Jaime Reyes. And you, Bartholomew Allen, are going to jail for a <em> long </em> time.”</p><p>Bart shoved the last bite into his mouth. “You’ll never catch me alive, sucker!”</p><p>He rolled up the paper food boat into a “bazooka” and pretend-fired it at Jaime, making sounds effects with his mouth.</p><p>Jaime pretend-dodged. “Oh, you tricky son of a—”</p><p>Bart blew a raspberry. “Catch me if you can!”</p><p>The planks reverberated as Bart sprinted. A breeze ruffled his skirt. His hair fell in his face, getting caught on his tongue when he opened his mouth. He turned around, running backward as he “shot” at Jaime with a <em> “pew pew”</em>. </p><p>Bart skidded to a stop when a wall of people cut off his path. Jaime tackled him. They fell onto the soft, damp grass, laughing their heads off.</p><p>Jaime grinned. “Caught ya!”</p><p>“So close!” Bart said. “I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for all those people. What’s up with that, anyway?”</p><p>As Jaime gave Bart a hand up, he said, “<em> That </em> is the best food truck in El Paso.”</p><p>A semicircle of customers surrounded a sky blue truck. The rainbow-striped canopy provided much-needed shade to an assortment of drinks. A chalkboard menu stood in front. Steam billowed from a rooftop hatch, and with it came a melty, cheesy smell so heavenly Bart wanted to wrap himself in it like a blanket.</p><p>The front of the truck read: “Queersadillas”. Bart fell even more in love.</p><p>“But the line…”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Jaime said. </p><p>He rapped on the side window. A guy Jaime’s age answered. He was a foot taller than Jaime and built like a grizzly bear. The guy wore a grease-stained black, gray, white, and purple striped apron over his t-shirt and cargo pants; the apron pockets held straws and receipt scraps. A red bandana held back the stray hairs of his buzz cut. Two similar-looking men were behind him, taking care of the long line.</p><p>“Jaime, my man!” He lifted Jaime in a bone-crushing hug. “Long time no see!”</p><p>“<em>Hola</em>, Paco,” Jaime wheezed through his squished lungs. “How’s business?”</p><p>“<em>Booming</em>,” Paco said. “The university widened its admissions pool this semester, which means we’re getting a <em> ton </em>of college kids. Brenda’s also helping us design a new website in her spare time. But enough about me, what’s new with you, <em> hombre</em>?”</p><p>Thankfully, Paco set Jaime down so the latter could introduce Bart.</p><p>“Bart, this is my friend, Paco. We’ve known each other since preschool,” Jaime said. “Paco, meet my roommate, Bart.”</p><p>Paco whistled. “<em>Maldito </em> Jaime, <em> tienes juego</em>.”</p><p>“<em>¡No es así!</em>”</p><p>“<em>Sure</em>,” he said. “Anyway, what can I get y’all?”</p><p>“Two pan-fried queersadillas, two bi-rritos, a tres leches gayke, and uh… couple of root beers.”</p><p>Paco jotted it down. “I’ll throw in a free carne ace-sada too—my treat.”</p><p>“You sure?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Of course! Friends and family bonus.”</p><p>As soon as Paco turned back to his station, Bart and Jaime each tossed ten dollars into the tip jar. A few moments later, Paco came out with a leaning tower of paper boxes and two glass bottles.</p><p>“Here ya go!” he said. “I gotta head back to the griddle, but holler if ya need anything.”</p><p>Bart let Jaime lead him to an empty picnic table. The evening air cooled his skin as he rolled his sleeves up. </p><p>Jaime cracked open a bottle. “You know, this place hasn’t changed much since I last been here.”</p><p>Bart unwrapped a burrito. “And when was that?”</p><p>“Ten years ago.”</p><p>His eyebrows flew up. “How come? You live so close.”</p><p>Jaime shrugged. “Guess I got busy. Can you pass the guac?”</p><p>“But then how did you know Paco would be here?”</p><p>“He and his cousins have been working the truck since freshman year of high school. They found an abandoned truck, got my dad to fix it up, and started a business all because they wanted to buy a hamster.”</p><p>“Hey, props to them for initiative.” Bart raised his bottle. “To us.”</p><p>“To us.”</p><p>The bottles clinked. Bart nabbed a bite of Jaime’s food as soon as he opened it.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“You snooze, you lose,” Bart said.</p><p>“But you have your own.”</p><p>“Tastes better stolen.”</p><p>The song changed. Jaime perked up like a cat. </p><p>“What?” Bart asked.</p><p>“Nothing, just recognized the song.”</p><p>Jaime’s foot tapped in time with the beat.</p><p>Bart asked, “You wanna dance?”</p><p>Jaime shook his head. “I’m not a good dancer.”</p><p>“Neither am I,” Bart said. “We can suck together.” He stood up and held out a hand.</p><p>Fingers laced loosely, they made their way to an empty spot on the lawn. </p><p>“So this is a waltz song,” Jaime said. “You know how to do that?”</p><p>Bart shook his head.</p><p>“That’s okay. I know a little—we had a dancing unit in ninth grade gym.” Jaime loosened his shoulders. “Er, should I lead or you?”</p><p>Bart said, “You’re the one who knows what he’s doing.”</p><p>“Touché.” </p><p>Jaime’s hand hovered by Bart’s waist, and a nod from the latter signaled him to go ahead. He placed his hand on Bart’s waist and Bart took his other hand.</p><p>“Alright, now I step forward while you step back—other foot, <em> ese </em>—and we’re kinda supposed to travel in little circles.”</p><p>“Like this?”</p><p>“Yep, that’s the gist of it.”</p><p>“Can we add a twirl?”</p><p>Jaime shrugged. “I don’t see why not?”</p><p>Just as they were about to, the song ended and Eighties rock started playing.</p><p>“Never mind,” Jaime said. “Song’s over.”</p><p>“We can keep dancing,” Bart said.</p><p>“But it’s not the right song. This is, like, the <em> opposite </em> of a waltz.”</p><p>Bart raised an eyebrow. “Jaime, I’ve read every book in the San Francisco Public Library and I didn’t find a single dancing law book.”</p><p>Jaime opened his mouth, but closed it again. “You have the weirdest ways of being right.”</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Lookin’ in your eyes, I see a paradise. This world that I found is too good to be true.”</em> </b>
</p><p>It took a hot second to figure out how to sync up. Bart gave Jaime’s hand a short squeeze as they stepped to the rhythm.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Standin' here beside you, want so much to give you this love in my heart that I'm feelin' for you.”</em> </b>
</p><p> Amber fairy lights danced in Jaime’s coffee irises. Bart picked up the subtlest cinnamon scent as the gap between them shrunk to a few inches. The long dewy blades tickled his ankles. He tripped, but Jaime was there, ready to catch him with a “careful, <em> hermano</em>”.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care 'bout that. Put your hand in my hand, baby, don't ever look back.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Bart asked, “Wanna try that twirl now?”</p><p>Jaime’s sunny smile widened. He let go of Bart’s waist. Bart’s skirt spun like a tangerine parasol. He closed his eyes, drinking in the floating feeling. A giggle bubbled through his chest as his hair whipped his face. It rose to the surface when they came back together and grew when Jaime brushed the stray strands from in front of Bart’s eyes.</p><p>A woman gave them a disgusted look. Bart stuck his tongue out at her. Jaime laughed.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Let the world around us just fall apart. Baby, we can make it if we're heart to heart.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Despite all that, he couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching him. As they made circles across the lawn, </p><p>Bart watched carefully over Jaime’s shoulder. Behind the trestles, a hooded figure stared straight at him. The hairs on his neck stood up, yet his gut told him they were safe enough to check out. </p><p>“I gotta use the bathroom. I-I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Once he was certain Jaime wasn’t looking, he ducked behind the ticket tent. </p><p>Placing a finger on the familiarities proved more difficult than he thought. He knew the flowing beige trench coat from somewhere. Through the shadows, he made out slender hands and battle-weathered boots caked in dirt—things he’d seen elsewhere.</p><p>The figure stepped into view. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Bart.”</p><p>The hood fell. A chestnut braid tumbled over poised shoulders. Firm yet concerned hazel eyes connected with his. An aura of wisdom radiated from each wrinkled skin crevice, but weariness emanated from between each bone.</p><p>He sucked in a breath. “Grandma Iris?”</p><p>She stepped forward, placing a hand on his cheek. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”</p><p>“I-I’m fine,” he said.</p><p>Iris glanced at the picnic table. “I gathered as much. And you look so… <em> different</em>.”</p><p>“I’ve been experimenting.”</p><p>She smiled. “It’s the most <em> you </em> I’ve seen you.”</p><p>“That means a lot coming from you.” He placed his hand on top of hers. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, but…”</p><p>“I’ve spent years searching the multiverse for you,” she said. “Oh God, I was worried I’d never find you.”</p><p>“Years?” Bart asked. “I was only gone for a month and a half.”</p><p>“Time works differently across different universes,” she said. “But now that I found you, we can go home.”</p><p>He gulped. “Home? As in… the dimension we came from?”</p><p>“Yes,” Iris said. “We need you, Bart. Time is frozen outside of Inertia’s force field. Valerie’s been trying to reverse the machine, but she hasn’t had much luck. You’re the only one who can restore our world to normal.”</p><p>“W-we don’t have a way to get back,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. </p><p>“Most dimensions have at least one portal,” Iris explained. “They’re often hidden to protect the citizens, and they’ll change on the rare occasion, but a well-versed traveler can locate these gateways. I found help in another world—a master of the mystic arts in a Himalayan sanctum. He helped me locate you, otherwise I would’ve spent the rest of my life looking. He also helped me find this.”</p><p>From under her coat, she pulled out a book.</p><p>Bart whispered, “<em>The Hawkman 1986 special</em>.”</p><p>She opened the comic to a marked page and placed it on the ground. Bart took several steps back. The tiny cartoon drawing expanded into an upright door-like black hole—a silver whirlpool swirling into oblivion. </p><p>Iris held out a hand. “Come.”</p><p>He looked from his grandmother to Jaime, who was stealing sips of Bart’s drink while scrolling through his phone, blissfully unaware. A sharp pang echoed through his chest.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t.”</p><p>She followed his gaze, smiling knowingly. “Take your time. I can hold out on my own until you’re ready.”</p><p>He wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you. And stay safe.”</p><p>“Good luck, Bart. I trust you’ll make the right decision.” Iris gave one last squeeze. “Remember, the future is in your hands.”</p><p>
  <em> Of course it was. No pressure. </em>
</p><p>She stepped back. It was almost like an illusion. With a final nod, she disappeared in a flash of darkness. A gust of wind blew the pages shut, closing the portal. </p><p>Iris’s words from earlier echoed in his mind.</p><p><em> Our world</em>. </p><p>They sounded so… <em> foreign</em>. He felt a pull from the inside—a forceful tug on a stubborn object. The tongue which spoke it bore a bittersweet nostalgia—the temptation to look back and take refuge in what he knew. </p><p>Correction: that was what he <em>used to </em>know.</p><p><em> Impulse </em>knew a dystopian future of tyrannical governments and virtual reality paradises. <em> Kid Flash </em>knew a world of teenage vigilantes living in their predecessors’ shadows, desperate to make a name for themselves. <em> The Flash </em>knew of vengeful villains, heavy losses, and the legacy of the lightning ring.</p><p>Bart Allen knew none of that.</p><p>He rolled up the comic and tucked it inside his jacket. At least time was frozen in that other world—he didn’t have to rush away with a hasty goodbye. Taking a deep breath, he shook himself off and returned to the picnic table.</p><p>Jaime raised an eyebrow. “You were gone a while. Everything good?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Bart said. “Everything’s fine.” He offered his hand with a tilted, playful smile. “Now where were we?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(These are feeling less like chapters and more like fics within a fic)</p><p>Translations:<br/>• Ese = dude<br/>• Bienvenidos = welcome<br/>• Dile a tu novio que necesito su rutina de cuidado de la piel = tell your boyfriend I need his skincare routine<br/>• Espera, cómo lo llamaste = wait, what did you call him<br/>• Cómo estás, mijo = how are you, son<br/>• Cómo se dice = how do you say<br/>• La tía de Brenda está trabajando en eso = Brenda’s aunt is working on it<br/>• Tienes el gusto peculiar en hombres = you have a peculiar taste in men<br/>• Dímelo a mí = tell me about it<br/>• Mijito = son<br/>• Hermano = bro<br/>• En retrospectiva, debería haberla visto venir = in hindsight, I should have seen it coming<br/>• Mija = daughter<br/>• Amigo = friend<br/>• No = no<br/>• Hijole = jeez<br/>• No me vengas con ese toro = don’t give me that bull<br/>• Hola = hello<br/>• Hombre = man<br/>• Maldito Jaime, tienes juego = Damn Jaime, you got game<br/>• No es así = it’s not like that</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Jaime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The lyrics referenced (bold/italics) are from the first verse and chorus of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ohf9x9W3BQ"><em> A Daydream Away </em></a> by All Time Low.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>~ Day 76 ~</strong>
</p><p>With messy hair, wrinkled shirt, and boxer shorts, Jaime slid into the kitchen in his socked feet, laptop under his arm as a grin broke out on his face. “Guess what?”</p><p>Bart paused his jar-opening to take a guess. “You’ve embraced your inner Tom Cruise and are turning the apartment into a brothel?”</p><p>“What? No.”</p><p>“Dang it.”</p><p>While Bart assembled his midnight sandwich, Jaime unlocked the laptop. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”</p><p>Bart uncapped the mustard bottle. “I’m gonna have to hear the bad news anyway, so why not start with the good news?”</p><p>Jaime pulled up an auctioning site. “The good news is I found a comic that might contain a portal back to your world—a special edition of Hawkman written in 1986.”</p><p>Bart shifted his weight. “Yippee.”</p><p>“The bad news is the only copy I could find went up for auction more than a month ago, and someone already bought it. I turned on email notifications in case another one hits the marketplace.” </p><p>Jaime combed his fingers through his unwashed hair. He tore his eyes from the screen to search for a reaction from Bart. Either the news wasn’t all that jarring or Bart had an incredible poker face because Jaime couldn’t find one—an anomaly for his overtly expressive roommate. The only thing he could discern was Bart staring off into space.</p><p>“Uh, Bart?”  Jaime waved a hand in front of Bart’s eyes.</p><p>It was enough to snap him out of it. </p><p>“Sorry, just tired,” he said. “But yeah, that’s… news, I guess.”</p><p>Jaime watched as Bart wrapped himself in the sofa bed’s mountain of fuzzy throw blankets—half of which Jaime didn’t own seventy-six days prior. Bart’s fiery red hair disappeared underneath the magenta zebra print. </p><p>Jaime’s brows furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling alright?”</p><p>Bart’s head poked out like a meerkat. “Can I be honest?”</p><p>“Of course.” Jaime sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair out of Bart’s eyes. “I kinda figured something was up when you abandoned your sandwich, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.”</p><p>Bart said, “I’ve had this killer headache all day and this late-night comic search isn’t helping.”</p><p>Jaime’s expression softened. “You should’ve said something sooner, <em> ese</em>.”</p><p>“I didn’t want you to do extra work.”</p><p>“It’s not work to me,” he said. “Wait here.”</p><p>“Not like I’m going anywhere.”</p><p>Jaime grabbed the Tylenol from the kitchen. The glowing green digits on the microwave read, <em>“12:39 AM”</em>.</p><p>He handed the pill to Bart along with a glass of water. “Should I call my dad and let him give you the day off tomorrow? Er, today, I guess.”</p><p>Bart shook his head and retreated under the blanket. Jaime couldn’t imagine what even the most common pains must feel like to the guy who’d lived his entire life with a healing factor. His heart clenched. It made their search even more important.</p><p>He gently carded his fingers through Bart’s hair. “Get some sleep.”</p><p>Jaime flicked off the lights and powered down the annoyingly bright computer. Bart was already out cold by the time Jaime swung back around the living room to pick up the empty glass. Save for the soft snores, the apartment was comfortingly still. </p><p>His eyes automatically traveled to Bart. He chuckled. Smiling softly, he tucked a strand of hair behind Bart’s ear. “<em>Dulces sueños, mi velocista</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 91 ~</strong>
</p><p>“It says here that the sailfish can swim at speeds up to seventy miles per hour, making it the fastest sea creature in the world,” Jaime said, reading the placard.</p><p>“Psh, only seventy?” Bart asked. </p><p>Jaime chuckled, crossing his arms. “I’d like to see you try to beat it in a hundred-meter.”</p><p>“Maybe I will.” Bart knocked aggressively on the ceiling-high aquarium glass, glaring at the bright blue sailfish. “You hear that, buddy? I’m taking you <em>down</em>. Then <em> I’ll </em> be the fastest sea creature in the world and you’re gonna have to sit at the loser table with the barnacles.”</p><p>Stifling a laugh behind his hands, Jaime said, “<em>Ese</em>, we’re gonna get in trouble.”</p><p>“I don’t care.” Bart knocked on the glass again. “Look me in the eye and fight me like a real fish, you coward.” He gestured to himself. “See this? It’s gonna be the last thing you see before I usurp you as King of the Ocean.”</p><p>“<em>Bart</em>.”</p><p>At this point, Jaime wasn’t laughing so much as he was clutching his side, wheezing breathlessly.</p><p>“You think your glorified face-sword scares me? I’ve smelled Superboy after the gym. <em> Nothing </em> scares me.”</p><p>Jaime grabbed the railing to keep from doubling over. </p><p>An irritated-looking employee approached them. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop disturbing the fish.”</p><p>Jaime placed a hand on Bart’s shoulder and plastered on a fake-serious expression. “He’ll stop, I promise.”</p><p>The employee responded with an unamused hum. As soon as they left, the pair broke down in a fit of giggles, holding onto each other for balance. An entire Girl Scout troop stopped to stare at the two grown men losing their minds in the Atlantic Ocean exhibit. </p><p>Jaime wiped a tear from his eye. “We should get outta here. People are staring.”</p><p>Bart, still laughing, said, “Let ‘em stare. <em> We’re </em> having a good time.”</p><p>In a flash, Jaime snapped an unflattering photo of Bart. </p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>Bart lunged. Jaime sidestepped and took off like a race car, snickering. Their footfalls echoed with every strike against the ground. Laughter rang through the air.</p><p>The lights dimmed as they entered the long glass tunnel. Stingrays arced over their heads while lazy tiger sharks skimmed the white sand dotted with slate rocks. Tranquil music played over the speakers. Jaime couldn’t help but slow down and watch with a childlike wonderment. The tank’s lights refracted through the rippling blue, casting a rainbow across his gray sweatshirt.</p><p>His body was slammed against the plexiglass by one hundred and forty-five pounds of ex-speedster. </p><p>Bart plucked the phone from Jaime’s fingers. “I’ll be deleting that.”</p><p>The whole time, their faces were less than a couple feet apart. In the low light, Bart’s irises glimmered as though they were casino tokens and Jaime hit the gold—<em>literally</em>. He was too transfixed to notice Bart unlocking the phone. Jaime’s attention moved to the hand pinning his chest to the wall, its callused ivory skin stealing the rainbow beam. </p><p>Their eyes met. Bart batted his curved lashes and smirked. “Your move, Reyes.”</p><p>“What else can I do?” Jaime asked. “You already won.”</p><p>“You could leap out of the way, terrified for your life.”</p><p>“<em>¿Qué?</em>”</p><p>Bart gestured behind him. Jaime turned to find himself nose-to-nose with a great white. He yelped and dove behind Bart.</p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p>Another laugh bubbled through Bart as he lowered the camera. “I’m sending this to Brenda.”</p><p>Jaime pouted. “You’re a meanie.”</p><p>Bart stuck his tongue out at him. “Say, you think we can buy some cookies from those Girl Scouts back there?”</p><p>“Doubt it, they probably left already.”</p><p>Overhead, the PA rang. <em> “Attention visitors, the aquarium will close in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit.” </em></p><p>“You heard Robo-Lady,” Jaime said. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“<em>Psh</em>. What are they gonna do if we stay and decide to live the rest of our lives with the fishes?”</p><p>“Kick us out.”</p><p>“Fair point.”</p><p>The downpour was uncharacteristically sudden—it had been sunny just hours before—and the bus stop was a full block away on the corner. Jaime flipped his hood up and pulled his jacket close.</p><p>Bart did the opposite.</p><p>He sprinted up to the biggest puddle on the sidewalk and jumped. The force sent a ring of water splashing upward, splashing the hem of his shirt and drenching the entire lower half of Jaime’s jeans. </p><p>“Bart!”</p><p>“What?” Bart blinked innocently. “We’re going home anyway, aren’t we?”</p><p>“Yeah, but still—”</p><p>“<em>C’mon</em>, Jaime, live a little. It’s not like we get rain often here.” Bart hopped to the next puddle. </p><p>Jaime let the hood drop as he followed. The wet socks would be a nightmare later, but the refreshing coolness between his toes felt like a dream right now. He beat Bart to the third pond-like puddle. Hands cupped, he let the water overfill the crevices of his palm before launching it at the other man. Bart retaliated with a splashing kick.</p><p>He darted away, but Jaime was faster. Sleeves rolled up, Jaime’s arms wound around Bart’s waist and he heaved the younger one over his shoulder.</p><p>Bart wriggled and squirmed. “I demand to be carried like a princess!”</p><p>“Oh, <em> please</em>.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “You ate so many tater tots today that it’s only fair to treat you like the potato sack you are.”</p><p>At home, the bathroom scale said they were almost the same weight, but it <em>had </em>to have been lying about one of them because Bart felt lighter than a feather in Jaime’s arms—a miracle of nature, given that the former considered foot-long sandwiches a “small snack”. Bart’s fists pounded against Jaime’s back as they Naruto-ran to the bus stop.</p><p>Jaime dumped Bart on the bench and squeezed the water out of his hoodie.</p><p>“Jaime?”</p><p>He looked up. The space between them had shrunk once again. This time, however, it wasn’t Bart’s eyes that drew him, but his <em>freckles</em>. Countless russet dots splayed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, magnified by the raindrops. He was a globe, and each freckle was a city waiting to be explored. </p><p>Bart tilted his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p>“Like what?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Like how Paco looks at Brenda. Or how Tye looks at Asami. Or how your dad—”</p><p>“I get it, I get it,” Jaime said. “What were you about to say?”</p><p>“Oh, I was gonna ask if we have food at home,” Bart said. “Otherwise I got Pizza Hut on speed dial.”</p><p>“Right.” Jaime cleared his throat. “Pizza works—extra sausage.”</p><p>“You think we can make it back before the delivery guy?”</p><p>The bus rolled into the stop and opened its doors with a loud hiss. Jaime grinned mischievously. “There’s only one way to find out, <em> potato sack</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 116 ~</strong>
</p><p>The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows as Jaime and Bart unloaded their groceries. Bart hummed <em> Livin’ On A Prayer </em>under his breath as he restocked the junk food pantry, the fiery copper gradient of his ponytail swaying back and forth between his shoulder blades like a flickering candle flame. Jaime tore his eyes away and stacked the yogurt cups in the fridge. </p><p>He felt a tap on his shoulder. </p><p>“Hey, guess what I got.”</p><p>Jaime turned around to find Bart holding a coin-sized white plastic ring. </p><p>“That looks very inappropriate.”</p><p>Bart scoffed. “Get your head out of the gutter.” He cleared his throat and said in a radio announcer voice, “I present you: the water-activated faucet light with color-changing strobe features.”</p><p>Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Is this why you asked to borrow ten bucks?”</p><p>“Trust me, it’s worth it,” Bart said. “Lemme give you a live demonstration.” He screwed the ring onto the tap and flipped a tiny switch on the side. “Now watch what happens when I turn it on.”</p><p>He turned the knob. True to his word, the water that ran out flashed bright, almost seizure-inducing nightclub colors—an endless sequence of red, green, and blue.</p><p>“Ta-da!” Bart said. “No more boring old clear water for us. Now we have party water!”</p><p>Jaime filled a glass and held it to the light. “Doesn’t seem to transfer over.”</p><p>“I’ll get the matching reusable ice cubes next time,” Bart said, earning a laugh from the older roommate.</p><p>“I’ll check if eBay has cups too. We <em> gotta </em> get the full set now.”</p><p>“Don’t forget the silverware!”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it, <em> hermano</em>.”</p><p>A knock interrupted them. Jaime said, “I’ll get that. Just put the vegetables away.”</p><p>He answered the door, surprised to find a peeved-off Tye with a backpack over his shoulder, hugging his army jacket close, strands of his dark brown waist-length hair falling in front of his face.</p><p>“Tye, what’s up?”</p><p>Tye huffed. “I need a place to crash for the night.”</p><p>Jaime motioned him in. “You can stay here.”</p><p>Bart peeked his head into the living room as Tye set his things by the potted fern. His eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“That’s what I was gonna ask.” Jaime placed a hand on Tye’s shoulder. “Anything you tell us stays here.”</p><p>Bart nodded in agreement, making the “cross my heart” gesture.</p><p>Sighing, Tye sank into the armchair and drew a knee to his chest. He glared at the ground. “Asami’s grandfather is in town tonight. He and I don’t exactly get along.”</p><p>Bart asked, “What do you mean by you ‘don’t get along’?”</p><p>“He’s got some old-fashioned attitudes. <em> Colonizing </em>attitudes. Which is ironic for a guy who ain’t even from here,” Tye said. “Every time he’s around, <em> someone </em>always starts an argument and I just… <em> can’t </em>this time. It’s <em> exhausting</em>, man.”</p><p>Jaime nodded empathetically. “Have you talked to Asami about it?”</p><p>“Yeah. She says it’s cool if I spend the night somewhere else. That way she doesn’t have to pick sides in a fight.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Jaime said. “Let’s figure out sleeping arrangements now so it won’t bother us later. I can get started on dinner after that.”</p><p>“Cool, just let me grab a drink,” Tye said. He paused, pursing his lips. “Paco and Asami are still helping me work on this whole ‘dudes expressing feelings’ thing, but… thank you, it means a lot.”</p><p>Jaime smiled. “Anything for a friend.”</p><p>It wasn’t until after Tye left did Bart’s eyes widen. “<em>The faucet</em>.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>From the kitchen, Tye shouted, “What the FUCK is up with your water?!”</p><p>As it turned out, they didn’t figure out who would sleep where in the tiny apartment until after their inordinately late dinner, when everyone was filled to the brim with Jaime’s <em>sopa de fideo </em>and Bart’s double chocolate chunk cookies. Jaime rubbed the impending exhaustion out of his eyes as he closed the dishwasher with his foot. While Tye was in the shower, Bart was stripping the sheets off the sofa bed and replacing them with fresh ones.</p><p>Jaime stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes again. “You guys worked something out?”</p><p>“Yep,” Bart said. “He can take my bed and I’ll sleep in the tub.”</p><p>Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. “<em>Dios mío</em>, that is <em> not </em> a solution, Bart.”</p><p>“Why not?” Bart asked. “I did it at Christmas.”</p><p>“I don’t care, you are <em>not </em>sleeping in the tub,” Jaime said. “You can take my bed, I’ll take the floor.”</p><p>“But it’s <em>cold</em>,” Bart protested. “At least let me take the floor.”</p><p>“It’s too hard,” Jaime said. “It’s gonna screw up your knee in the morning.”</p><p>“I’ve survived worse.”</p><p>“I’m still not gonna let you have a hard time.”</p><p>Tye cut in, rubbing his hair with a towel. “If y’all would quit bickering like an old married couple for ten seconds, you’d see the solution is pretty frickin’ obvious.”</p><p>“Please tell us,” Bart said. Jaime nodded.</p><p>Tye said, “Why don’t you <em>both </em>sleep on the bed? Ever thought of that?”</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>An hour and a half later, Jaime learned just how utterly ridiculously unpredictably <em> Bart </em> Bart could be.</p><p>The latter fell asleep first and other than the soft snores, the first thirty minutes were okay. Jaime was always the type to take a while to fall asleep because he let his thoughts run loose through his mind. Though they were on opposite sides of the bed, he occasionally glanced over his shoulder to check on Bart’s sleeping form, though he couldn’t discern much in the dark. </p><p>Right when his eyes were about to slide shut, his blanket was yanked off his body, exposing his bare torso to the freezing cold. Jaime glared at Bart, who now had a heavy duvet on top of his six other throws and quilts. He tried to take it back, but even unconscious Bart was a stubborn mule. After a short tug-of-war, Jaime surrendered, letting Bart have it. He curled in on himself instead to preserve the little body heat he had—which wasn’t easy wearing only a pair of basketball shorts—and repeated in his head that this was just for one night. Plus, the snoring got louder, like sleeping next to an elephant with sinus problems.</p><p>Jaime shivered for the umpteenth time when the mattress shifted. Before he could react, Bart draped one arm and one leg over him like half a starfish, forcing Jaime to the edge of the bed. Despite that, all the blankets were still wrapped around Bart. <em> How is he hogging both the space AND the covers? </em> Jaime pushed the thought out of his mind and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to ignore Bart breathing into his ear. (Though he didn’t mind the faint scent of orange soda and engine oil.)</p><p>He wasn’t even sure he <em>slept</em>. All Jaime knew was he opened his eyes again at four AM to Bart whimpering, his nails digging into Jaime’s skin. </p><p><em> “Max… Jay… Barry… Wally… </em> please don’t leave me. Come back. Please. <em> Idon’twannabealonepleasecomeback</em>.” </p><p>Tears streamed down Bart’s face, hitting the pillowcase with dull plips. His breath quickened. Hands latched onto Jaime’s arm, clinging for dear life.</p><p>“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be better. I <em> know </em> I can do better just <em> pleasegivemeasecondchance</em>, <em> pleasepleaseplease</em>—”</p><p>“<em>Bart</em>.” Jaime gently shook him. “Bart, wake up.”</p><p>Bart squeezed tighter. “<em> I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry</em>, it’s all my fault, <em> I’m sorry</em>.”</p><p>Sighing, Jaime wrapped his arms around Bart’s quivering frame. He ran his fingers through Bart’s silky soft hair.</p><p>“<em>Shh</em>, it’s okay. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe,” Jaime said. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you; nobody’s gonna abandon you as long as I’m around, <em> lo prometo</em>.”</p><p>Bart relaxed. His breathing evened out. He wrapped his arms around Jaime—a welcomed warmth. Feather-soft breaths tickled the skin where Bart buried his face in the crook of Jaime’s neck. All the while, Jaime whispered hushed words of comfort.</p><p>The last thing he remembered saying before sleep overtook him was, “<em> I’m here. I got you </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 124 ~</strong>
</p><p>Jaime should’ve known something was off when Bart woke up <em>before </em>him on a Saturday.</p><p>Saturdays were Bart’s “if you set an alarm, I will spit in your coffee” days. Saturdays were the “don’t wake me up even if the room is on fire, I will go down with this bed” days. Saturday was when Bart could recharge after a week’s worth of early morning repairs and laboring under the desert sun. One time someone called him at eight o’clock. That person’s number is no longer on his phone.</p><p>So waking up to a quiet apartment and Bart’s side of the bed already made triggered every evolutionary survival instinct in Jaime. He bolted up. <em> What if something happened? </em></p><p>“Bart?”</p><p>“I’m in the kitchen!” Bart answered. “I dropped something behind the fridge though, can you help me move it?”</p><p>Jaime let out a sigh of relief. “<em>No problema</em>.” </p><p>He didn’t bother to put on a shirt because the apartment was warmer than usual. Morning light stretched along the carpet like a cat. Traffic wasn’t heavy, meaning he could hear the first birds of spring chirping on the windowsill.</p><p>“Alright, what did you drop—<em>AGH! </em>”</p><p>Saran wrap clung to his face like walking into a spiderweb. The harder he fought, the more it tangled around his head. Was this how mummies felt? He ripped it away and spun around to find Bart with his phone pointed. </p><p>“April Fools!”</p><p>Jaime tossed the saran wrap aside. “You are <em> not </em> sending that to our friends.”</p><p>Bart tapped the screen, smirking. “Too late.”</p><p>Jaime charged at Bart. </p><p>Bart darted away. </p><p>Jaime chased Bart out of the kitchen into the living room, cornering him on the couch. With a lunge, he tackled Bart onto the fluffy down cushions, pinning the younger one’s hands to the armrest.</p><p>Bart waggled his eyebrows. “Enjoying the view?”</p><p>In response, Jaime poked him in the side. Bart squirmed away, laughing.</p><p>“Hang on,” Jaime said, “are you <em> ticklish?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Pfft</em>, of course not!” Bart said. </p><p>Jaime smiled deviously. “So you won’t mind if I do… this?”</p><p>He attacked the soft part of Bart’s stomach with all ten fingers. Cackling, Bart tried to crawl away, but Jaime was faster. He wrapped one arm around Bart while launching another volley with the other. In their one-sided battle, they rolled off the couch and hit the rug with a resounding thud.</p><p>“This isn’t fair,” Bart said. “I can’t help that I’m squishy and sensitive.”</p><p>Jaime poked Bart again, eliciting another laugh. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so squishy if you’d quit stealing my chicken strips, <em> gordito</em>.”</p><p>“I have no idea what that means, so I’m gonna assume you called me Gordon, as in Gordon Ramsay,” Bart said, “which means <em> I </em> have superior taste.”</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that.”</p><p>Bart’s phone rang. He made a “hang on” motion to Jaime before picking it up. “Bart Allen speaking.”</p><p>The voice on the other end was difficult to make out, like the nonsensical high-pitched chatter on the other end of telephones in cartoons. Bart nodded every couple of seconds, humming.</p><p>“Sorry about that, sir, it won’t happen again. Have a nice day.” </p><p>He hung up. Jaime asked, “Who was that?”</p><p>“The landlord,” Bart said. “We got a noise complaint.”</p><p>Jaime burst out laughing. “That’s a first.”</p><p>Bart propped himself up on one elbow, stomach growling like an eldritch horror. Jaime’s stomach followed suit.</p><p>“I’ll make breakfast,” Bart said. “It’s the least I can do for nearly suffocating you in the thing I wrapped our leftovers with.” He booped Jaime’s nose. “You might wanna put on a shirt, Taylor Lautner.”</p><p>Jaime scrunched his nose, giggling. “You sure <em> you’re </em> not enjoying the view.”</p><p>Bart playfully whacked him. “I hope you like your eggs extra crunchy.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 142 ~</strong>
</p><p>On April 19th, they made bread.</p><p>It was Bart’s idea. Or more accurately, Bart saw Milagro’s TikTok recipe and decided he <em>had </em>to try it even though neither of the roommates knew anything about bread-baking. The recipe itself looked next to impossible. Jaime was positive his sister edited the video because it looked like a breeze compared to their current whirlwind of a kitchen. The shared Spotify playlist blasting through the speakers rivaled the noise of the electric beater. Bart had borrowed an apron from Brenda and was storing all his utensils in a pocket labeled “Barbecue Princess” (Jaime didn’t even know he <em>owned </em>an egg brush). And it was <em>sweltering</em>. There was <em>zero </em>reason for Bart to leave the oven open while preheating.</p><p>Jaime coughed when the mixer expelled another cloud of flour into the air like pollen. “Are you sure we’re doing this right, <em> cariño</em>?”</p><p>Bart wiped his hands and pulled up the thirty-second video on his iPad. “I’m positive. At the nine-second mark, it says to gradually add flour while mixing. And I thought I told you to work on the Nutella mix.”</p><p>“The ingredients list flashes for, like, two seconds!” Jaime said, “and Milagro’s not answering my texts.”</p><p>“It’s <em> literally </em> just Nutella and white chocolate chips.”</p><p>“But how much?”</p><p>“It doesn’t say,” Bart said. “Just guesstimate.”</p><p>Jaime threw his hands in the air with a frustrated whine before dumping the entire Nutella jar into a mixing bowl, followed by enough chocolate chips to feed a small country. Bart slapped the dough ball onto a flour-coated cutting board.</p><p>“It says to knead for ten minutes, but she completely skips that in the video,” he said. “Do you know how to knead bread?”</p><p>Jaime spun around, chocolate-covered spoon in hand. A drop of Nutella flew off the spoon and landed on the tip of Bart’s nose. Jaime stifled a chortle, forgetting everything he was going to say.</p><p>“I didn’t take you for a guy who starts food fights, but…” Bart picked up a generous pinch of flour and flicked it on Jaime’s dark blue apron. “Two can play that game.”</p><p>Jaime retaliated by throwing a single chocolate chip at Bart’s face, which the latter caught in his mouth.</p><p>“Damnit,” he said.</p><p>Bart flexed his bicep. “Looks like you gotta try harder to beat <em> this</em>.”</p><p>Jaime scooped a spoonful of powdered sugar and catapulted it. An explosion of white powder struck Bart’s shoulder. </p><p>He gasped in mock hurt. “Babe, how could you?”</p><p>“All’s fair in love and war,” Jaime said. “I think it’s high time you surrendered.”</p><p>Bart broke a banana off the bunch and pointed it like a gun. “I’ll do what I gotta do, Reyes.”</p><p>Before Jaime could say anything, Bart hoisted himself onto the marble counter, his head dangerously close to brushing the hot fluorescent lights.</p><p>Jaime laughed. “Bart, get down from there before you hurt yourself.”</p><p>“Not until you give up and say ‘Bartholomew Henry Allen the Second is the ultimate food fighting champion of the universe’.”</p><p>“I’m <em>not </em>saying that. Just get down from there.”</p><p>“Never!”</p><p>Jaime glanced at the sink overflowing with dirty kitchenware. “I’ll do the dishes.”</p><p>“I don’t care. Say it or I’m staying.”</p><p>He sighed half-exasperatedly. “<em>Bartholomew Henry Allen the Second is the ultimate food fighting champion of the universe</em>.”</p><p>“Yay!” </p><p>With Jaime’s help, Bart climbed back down and booped Jaime’s nose. He asked, “Did Milagro get back to you?”</p><p>“Uh…” Jaime checked his phone. “Yeah, she sent the written recipe.”</p><p>“Thank God,” Bart said. “I’ve watched that video so many times the chorus of <em> Fergalicious </em> is permanently etched into my skull.”</p><p>Once the braided, cholesterol-filled loaf was in the oven, Jaime loaded the dishwasher just like he promised while Bart wiped the surfaces. The playlist had transitioned into the calming acoustic tunes Jaime added to balance out Bart’s racket.</p><p>Jaime threw the towel over his shoulder and took a seat on the linoleum next to Bart, who was watching the bread rise like it was the movie premiere of the century. Soft music filled the room. Jaime scooted closer.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“I wish you could see your face right now, ‘cause you're grinning like a fool.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Chin resting in his hands, Bart leaned forward, peering through the translucent glass. Something inside Jaime fluttered when Bart’s pupils widened and he began prattling off a bunch of complex technical terms describing how the oven baked the bread. Most of it flew over Jaime’s head. But that <em>smile</em>. He’d listen to a thousand lectures just to see it.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“And we're sitting on our kitchen floor on a Tuesday afternoon.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Slowly, the baked bread aroma engulfed the kitchen. Jaime could practically taste the chocolate in the air. A chorus of low hums from the appliances backed the music whilst Bart’s impromptu physics lesson came to a close. Around the oven, the floor felt warm (or maybe that was just Jaime). He tried to think of something to say, but nothing deemed worthy of filling the beautiful silence blanketing them. Their knuckles brushed.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“It doesn't matter when we get back to doing what we do.”</em> </b>
</p><p>The worries of life left his lungs, dissipating into the air. He could <em>breathe</em>. It was just him, Bart, their chocolate dough baby, and the ambiance that came with knowing everything’s okay—that they’re safe and not alone. Jaime let the quietness ground him. He was a sailor who spent an eternity at sea, ready to feel the sand between his toes once again; ready to feel the warm breeze on his skin, smell the flowers, and taste what the land offered. Never did he expect that the person whom he spent years with his head in the clouds for would be his anchor. Perhaps in getting Bart acquainted with the world, Jaime <em>re-acquainted</em> himself. Bart made him want to try.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“‘Cause right now could last forever just as long as I'm with you.”</em> </b>
</p><p>They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but no words can capture the glittering diamond moment. It saddened him that the human mind wouldn’t let him memorize every detail. He wanted to know <em>exactly </em>how many freckles were on Bart’s left cheek. He wanted to paint each stroke of hair on a canvas as big as Michelangelo’s. Outside could be on fire and he wouldn’t care. Not when he had a world of his own, fitting perfectly in his arms. He felt Bart’s head rest against his shoulder.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“You're just a daydream away. I wouldn't know what to say if I had you.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Part of him said he shouldn’t bother. It was only a matter of time before Bart had to return to his story. Pursuing anything was fruitless—it’ll only end in heartbreak and desolation. He should count his blessing, take what he can get, and don’t ask for anything more.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“And I'll keep you a daydream away, just watch from a safe place so I never have to lose.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Jaime forced the cynic back into its cage with a chair and a whip. He knew the script—it was the same every time: loneliness and insecurity veiled under a guise of self-preservation. Like many others, it lured him in. After all, people can’t hurt him if he never got close. </p><p>He scoffed mentally. Sure, he could <em>theoretically </em>go his whole life without sacrificing pieces of himself to others and survive in the bare-bones sense, but how boring would that be? An untrusting, compassionless existence. Life was <em>art</em>, and art’s about taking risks. </p><p>Jaime laced his fingers with Bart’s.</p><p>And there’s nothing left to do but take the plunge.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 195 ~</strong>
</p><p>“Thanks for bringing me here, babe,” said Bart. “I’ve never been to Pride before.”</p><p>“Probably ‘cause the writers never wrote it in.”</p><p>Jaime adjusted the bisexual flag and pronoun pins on his backpack. Whilst he kept it casual, Bart went all out with shutter glasses, a tie-dyed tank top, charity wristbands, and a glitter heart on one shoulder. His rainbow flag cape trailed against the hot asphalt. </p><p>As Jaime dug through his bag, Bart whined, “Can we just go in already?”</p><p>“Not until you put on sunscreen, <em> cariño</em>.” Jaime squirted a hearty amount of sunblock into his palm and smeared it over Bart’s face.</p><p>Bart squirmed away. “Nope, I don’t need it.”</p><p>“<em>Cállate</em>, you’re whiter than the Brady Bunch.” Jaime kept applying it despite Bart’s toddler-like protests. He tossed the bottle back into the bag next to the water bottles and spare sweatshirt before lacing their fingers together. “<em>Now </em> we’re ready to go.”</p><p>“Yay!” </p><p>He’d seen pictures of Pride in big cities like New York and Rio de Janeiro. They were these grandiose celebrations of freedom and love, with tens of thousands in attendance, parades stretching for miles, and A-list celebrities making public appearances. Those places always wound up trending on social media. And that was great! More popularity meant greater awareness, which benefited the entire community.</p><p>Compared to them, however, the El Paso festival was a modest one. It got Jaime revved up nonetheless, even if he had to endure the stifling Texas heat. They passed under the rainbow balloon arch as though it was an enchanted gateway to a fantasy land. Tents and trestle tables lined the cobblestone footpath. Jaime heard the applause of a drag show somewhere. Queer anthems played overhead. People of all walks of life milled about. The smell of classic festival food wafted through the air, grabbing Bart’s attention. Jaime was <em>positive </em> Bart was a golden retriever werewolf or something because no human being on this hurtling space rock could bounce with such boundless energy. </p><p>“Babebabebabe, I see Paco’s truck. Can we get some <em> pleeeease</em>?”</p><p>Jaime laughed. “Only if you put away those ridiculous otter eyes.”</p><p>In response, Bart widened them.</p><p>Jaime booped Bart’s nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”</p><p>The truck wasn’t hard to spot. It stood in the middle of a circular courtyard, the steam from the hatch filling the air. Paco stood on a supply crate in front with his ace apron and a megaphone in hand.</p><p>“Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary friends, welcome one and all to Sun City Pride’s main attraction: the new and improved Queersadilla truck!”</p><p>Applause rang through clearing.</p><p>“We made it just in time,” Bart said. “I saw Paco’s Insta story about a Pride relaunch and I knew he’d want us to be here.”</p><p>Jaime scratched his head. “Huh, guess that’s what I get for checking social media at <em> night</em>.”</p><p>Paco’s eyes lit up when he saw the two in front. He gave the bullhorn to his cousin/colleague.</p><p>“I’m <em> so </em> glad y’all could make it!” </p><p>Jaime waved. “Good to see you too—<em>oomph!</em>”</p><p>As though they weighed nothing, Paco scooped each one in one arm and squeezed them close. Their shoes left the ground. </p><p>While Jaime was immobilized, getting the wind squashed out of him, While Jaime was immobilized, getting the wind squashed out of him, </p><p>Bart wrapped his one free arm around Paco, sighing contently. “It’s like hugging a giant teddy bear.”</p><p>Paco put them down. Jaime was pretty sure his ribs have been permanently reshaped.</p><p>“Before we start selling, I have one small favor to ask,” said Paco.</p><p>“Sure,” Jaime said. “Anything for a friend.”</p><p>“<em>¡Fantástico!</em>” Paco pulled out a digital camera. “I need to update our promos, so I just need a couple pics from y’all in front of the truck.”</p><p>Jaime and Bart positioned themselves in front of the giant rainbow quesadilla logo painted on the side of the truck. It felt awkward. They looked like they were posing for school photos rather than an advertisement. Paco seemed to agree.</p><p>“How ‘bout we try a few different poses,” he said. “See if anything clicks.”</p><p>Bart thought for a second. “Poses, huh? Like… <em> this</em>?” </p><p>He turned around with one hand on his hip and flipped his hair like a supermodel. </p><p>Paco grinned. “That’s more like it. Jaime, show me what you got.”</p><p>Jaime made a show of slicking his hair back like every Calvin Klein model. Paco snapped a photo.</p><p>“Ooh, let’s try another one,” Bart said.</p><p>“Superheroes?” Jaime suggested.</p><p>“You took the words right out of my mouth.”</p><p>Bart’s cape whipped Jaime’s face as a breeze blew. Jaime only meant to swat it away, but the camera clicked and it came out looking like a karate chop. </p><p>“Awesome, awesome,” Paco said. “One more. Something… spontaneous, maybe. Surprise me.”</p><p>“Is it <em> really </em> spontaneous if you expect it?” Bart asked. </p><p>Jaime said, “You tell me.”</p><p>He scooped Bart up. Bart squealed in surprise and delight as they spun in circles. Jaime didn’t know when Paco took the picture. All he knew was when they stopped, Bart’s hands were resting on the nape of his neck. The world slowed until every molecule came to a gradual halt. Their foreheads pressed against each other.</p><p>Jaime smiled. “<em>Hola</em>.”</p><p>Bart smiled back. “Hey.”</p><p>His hands traveled to Jaime’s face. He leaned up and rubbed the tip of his nose against Jaime’s. The latter giggled.</p><p>He vaguely registered Paco say something along the lines of, <em> “I’ll leave you two alone.”  </em></p><p>Jaime asked, “Should we move on?”</p><p>“We don’t have to,” Bart said. “I like where we are.”</p><p>He rubbed his nose against Bart’s. “So do I.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 203 ~</strong>
</p><p>It was Monday again, but Jaime welcomed it. It meant waking up next to Bart in the morning with the bluebirds singing, and it meant going home to the radio playing and cooking dinner together while trying not to make <em>too </em>much of a mess, and it meant climbing in bed together only to giggle over the most random topics like two kids at a sleepover. </p><p>Jaime punched into work with a spring in his step, humming an indie rock song under his breath. He tossed his bag and jacket in the break room and opened the staff pantry for the <em>one </em>bag of chips Bart can’t access. </p><p>As he was about to pop open the bag, he felt a stern hand on his shoulder. He turned to find his boss towering over with a strained smile on his face.</p><p>“How’re you doing, Jaime?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”</p><p>“As a matter of fact,” the man said, “there’s something I want to talk about. I’d like to see you in my office before the patients come in, if that’s okay.”</p><p>Jaime nodded. He allowed his boss to walk him down the long beige hall to a monolithic slab of a door. It reminded Jaime of a warden’s office as opposed to a head orthodontist’s. The man motioned for Jaime to take a seat before squeezing his potbelly on the other side of a file-cluttered desk, letting the door slam shut. The smile disappeared.</p><p>“I’ll cut to the point,” said the man. “Janice from the front desk found some social media posts that we think may be unprofessional and inappropriate.”</p><p>Jaime reeled. “Inappropriate? With all due respect, sir, you must be mistaken. I never post anything inappropriate.”</p><p>The boss opened his laptop. “Then how do you explain <em> this</em>?” </p><p>He turned the computer around. On the screen was the Queersadillas promo pic from last week with Jaime carrying Bart bridal-style, their faces dangerously close. </p><p>Jaime gulped. “I-I don’t see what’s inappropriate about that. I was just doing a favor for a friend.”</p><p>The man took off his glasses. “Jaime, you are aware this is a family practice dentistry, right? Emphasis on <em> ‘family’</em>.” He folded his hands, jaw clenched. “Our goal is to cultivate an atmosphere appropriate for clients of all ages, and that includes making sure our employees have a clean background.”</p><p>“But sir, you’ve seen my records. I don’t have anything—”</p><p>“I do not limit a clean background to a lack of criminal history,” the man said. “This… <em> lifestyle </em> is incompatible with our traditional values.”</p><p><em> No no no, this can’t be happening</em>. Jaime sucked back the hot prickling in his eyes.</p><p>The boss continued. “However, given that you’re one of our better assistants, I’m going to let you off with a warning. If I find you are engaging in those activities again, it will be grounds for termination. Understood?”</p><p>If this was a comic, Jaime would flip the table and go on a page-long rant about ingrained bigotry and how all people are created equal, putting the man in his rightful place. But this was the real world. In the real world, power and privilege have the upper hand. Guys like Jaime couldn’t win without sacrificing what little they had, and that sacrifice was not one he’s willing to make—not as long as he had rent to pay.</p><p>That left him no choice but to lower his head and say, “Understood.”</p><p>“Good. Now get back to work.”</p><p>The door closed behind him. He slipped into an empty bathroom and wedged a wet floor sign under the metal knob. He shot a quick text to Asami—he was in no shape to follow through with their lunch plans. The rough paper towels only made the soft skin around his eyes pinker when he wiped them. With a strangled cry, he chucked the damp, balled-up sheets into the empty trash can. </p><p>Jaime checked the time: two minutes before the first patient. He made a quick phone call to his coworker, telling them he didn’t feel well without giving off any sign why (thankfully they were lenient). </p><p>His throat closed. He told himself not to cry in public as he snuck out the back door—which he stuck by for the fogged blur of a trip. With nowhere else to go, he turned to the one place he knew:</p><p>
  <em> Home. </em>
</p><p>He wanted nothing more than to swaddle himself in sheets fresh from the dryer with junk food and bad B-movies and forget about everything.</p><p>Upon entering the apartment, he half-stormed, half-sprinted past straight the kitchen, not acknowledging the confused Bart sipping a coffee. Jaime slammed the bedroom door shut and threw his face into the pillow.</p><p>Hot tears flowed freely down his face. His shoulders shook with every sob. It must’ve been loud, too, because he didn’t sense Bart come in until he felt a hand on top of his. </p><p>“You wanna talk about it?” Bart asked.</p><p>Jaime gave a muffled non-answer.</p><p>Bart squeezed his hand. “You wanna order pizza and watch a movie instead?”</p><p>Jaime looked up. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”</p><p>“There was a gas leak,” Bart said. “So how’s about that pizza and movie?” Jaime nodded, and Bart swiped the tears away. “I’ll get the cheesy bread too. You stay right here.”</p><p>He rubbed the tip of his nose against Jaime’s like they were bunnies, which earned a little giggle from the older roommate. </p><p>While Bart took care of food and entertainment, Jaime changed into his comfiest pajamas and wrapped himself in the softest blanket. He looked like a floating sheet with half a face, but he didn’t care. As the tears lifted, a stuffiness set in, and his larynx felt raw. </p><p>A few minutes later, Bart returned to the room with a laptop. “The only DVD I could find was <em> Thor: Ragnarok</em>. Not that it’s a terrible movie.”</p><p>“That’s fine.” Jaime’s voice came out hoarser than expected. He cleared his throat. “When will the pizza get here?”</p><p>“Twenty minutes,” Bart said. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll take care of everything.”</p><p>Jaime lifted the blanket like Batman’s cape, which Bart crawled under.</p><p>“We should make a new tradition,” Bart said. “<em>Monday Morning Movies</em>. Sounds pretty awesome if you ask me.”</p><p>Jaime laughed and laced their fingers together.</p><p>Bart only left once to grab the pizza. Otherwise, despite being mid-morning, they curled up against each other. Slowly, the clouds above Jaime’s head parted like the end scene of <em> The Lion King</em>. The food and good-humored movie helped, but not as much as the man beside him. He rested his head on Bart’s shoulder as the end credits rolled, taking a long whiff of the latter’s clementine shampoo.</p><p>“Did you just sniff my hair?” Bart asked.</p><p>“<em>Mayhaps</em>,” said Jaime. “It smells nice.”</p><p>“I’d say the same to you, but you buy the boring adult stuff that smells like soap. Seriously, where’s the fun? The pizazz?” Bart said, doing jazz hands.</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes. “I don’t think folks at work would appreciate me coming in smelling like Hawaiian punch.”</p><p>Bart’s expression morphed into one of concern as he lowered the computer volume. “Speaking of work, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”</p><p>Jaime sighed. “I’ll start from the top.”</p><p>And so for the next god-knows-how-many minutes, Jaime recalled every detail of the morning encounter. He told Bart about the photo, Janice the front desk lady with her blabbermouth, and his boss’s not-so-passive-aggressive threat. The pressure in his chest grew. Bart’s arms were around him when the floodgates opened. Jaime buried his face in Bart’s collarbone as the second wave of sobs wracked his body. There was warmth in those arms. And safety. People liked to echo the notion of a dog-eat-dog world, but that had to be at least <em>partially </em>false; Bart’s been nothing but good to him since the day they met.</p><p>“What can I do to make it better?” Bart asked.</p><p>“That’s the <em>problem</em>,” said Jaime. “I don’t think you <em> can</em>.” </p><p>“<em>Bullcrap</em>.” Bart moved the hair out of Jaime’s eyes. “Justice <em> always </em> finds a way.”</p><p>“Maybe, if you can somehow rewrite the social hierarchy and eradicate institutionalized discrimination.”</p><p>“What if I filed a report?”</p><p>“I doubt they’ll listen, but if that’s what you wanna do, go ahead.”</p><p>All this <em>thinking </em>and <em>crying </em>made Jaime’s head hurt. Though outside was bright and sunny, all his brain wanted to do was sleep off the rest of the day. It was like the sober person’s equivalent of a hangover.</p><p>Bart seemed to sense it too. “You’ve had a rough morning, babe. Why don’t you catch some Z’s and I’ll cover your chores, m’kay?”</p><p>Jaime hummed in agreement. Bart closed the laptop and draped an extra blanket over the existing one. Eyes fully shut, Jaime swore he felt something soft on his forehead. Whatever, he was probably just imagining it. He heard the flick of the light switch, and the static in his mind smothered any comprehensible thought.</p><p>He woke up to the sunset. Bart laid next to him—he must have joined sometime recently because he wasn’t sleep-fidgeting yet the way he did when he's deep asleep. Lavender light peeked through the window slats, casting long, narrow rays onto the freckled face and tousled hair. Instinctively, Jaime wrapped an arm around Bart’s waist and touched their foreheads together. That was enough to wake Bart.</p><p>“Hey,” Bart said. “How’re you feeling?”</p><p>“Better.” Jaime’s voice was less raspy and his eyelids didn’t sting as much. “What’ve you been up to?”</p><p>“You know, the usual—did the dishes, filed a couple civil rights complaints, watered the plants, checked the mail.”</p><p>Jaime blinked. “Wait, what?” </p><p>“Don’t worry, it was mostly spam, but I saved the Ben and Jerry’s coupon.”</p><p>“No, before that.”</p><p>“Watered the plants. By the way, we should check if cacti can develop bug problems.”</p><p>“<em>Before </em> that, <em> cariño</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, <em> that</em>. You gave me the green light to file reports.”</p><p>Jaime paused, confused. “But… the state of Texas has, like, <em> nothing </em> protecting queer people.”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured,” Bart said, “but federal law overrules any state legislation, so I took it up to the Equal Employment Opportunity and Title IX offices.”</p><p>Jaime’s chest fluttered. “You did all that for me?”</p><p>Bart shrugged. “I also made a Facebook to tell Janice her tuna casserole looks bland and crusty.”</p><p>It’s a good thing they’re on a mattress because hug-tackling Bart onto any other surface would’ve left a mark. Jaime squeezed Bart close. His thank you’s blurred together. </p><p>“You have no idea how much this means to me,” Jaime whispered. “<em>Thank you</em>.”</p><p>Bart carded his fingers through Jaime’s hair, smiling softly. “It’s what we always do. You got my back and I got yours.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 245 ~</strong>
</p><p>“We should get Hot Pockets.”</p><p>“We have Hot Pockets at home, <em> cariño</em>.”</p><p>“We should get more. <em>Ooh</em>, and we should get the breakfast variety with the sausage and egg.”</p><p>“I'm pretty sure those are made with rat hairs and ammonia.”</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Pretty please?”</p><p>“Still no.”</p><p>Bart sighed. “You leave me no choice.”</p><p>“Wait, don’t—”</p><p>Before Jaime could finish, Bart’s amber eyes widened to the size of saucers, shimmering like dewdrops under the fluorescent lights. It didn’t help that he looked like a jelly bean sitting in the shopping cart with his knees folded against his chest, grocery items stacked around him. He stuck out his bottom lip. Jaime tried to look away, but like a magnet, it pulled him in.</p><p>He relented. “Take as many as you want. I swear, the government should classify those things as lethal weapons.”</p><p>Bart cheered and climbed out of the cart. “Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”</p><p>Jaime booped his nose. “Only every time I buy you food.”</p><p>As Bart filled his seat-hole with frozen Hot Pockets, he asked, “Wanna see who can eat more in one sitting?”</p><p>“As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass. What’s next on the list?”</p><p>Bart pulled out his phone. “Butter and cream cheese for the cupcakes and frosting.”</p><p>He rearranged the Hot Pockets like a throne and climbed back into the cart. Jaime chuckled. </p><p>The store was almost empty—no surprise there, because twenty-four-hour groceries still had their slow periods. Most people would be too tired or too busy to shop at such a late hour, which meant Jaime and Bart had entire sections to themselves. The white lights and stocked shelves felt out of place without the usual patrons. Jaime wasn’t even sure he saw an employee. But it was nice, just the two of them (even though the only reason they were there was because <em> someone </em> wanted nighttime tacos and desserts and <em> someone else </em> didn’t know how to refuse.)</p><p>“Jaime.”</p><p>“<em>¿Sí, mi conejito?</em>”</p><p>“You missed the cheese aisle.”</p><p>“Whoops.”</p><p>He turned around, only for their cart to collide head-on with another. The contents rattled. Bart hugged the frozen boxes close, exclaiming, “<em>My precious!</em>”</p><p>“I’m so sorry, I—” </p><p>Jaime’s paused, for it was none other than one Asami Koizumi pushing the cart while one Tye Longshadow sat inside clutching a tub of cookie dough to his body the same way Bart was doing with the Hot Pockets boxes. They made eye contact. Slowly, Jaime backed away. There was a time and place for friends, and nine P.M. on a Sunday at a supermarket in their pajamas was not one of them.</p><p>Bart scratched his head. “That was… uh…”</p><p>“Pretend it never happened?”</p><p>“Agreed.”</p><p>They entered the produce section. Bart got out of the cart to make space. Meanwhile, Jaime scrolled through the list of fruits and vegetables they needed to grab. </p><p>“Okay, first, Milagro wants to make a new video and she needs us to grab alfalfa ‘cause my parents forgot,” he said.</p><p>“You can count on me,” said Bart.</p><p>He disappeared amongst the block of produce stands and Jaime began picking out tomatoes for the salsa. Perhaps the sudden lack of presence in the aisle should’ve tipped him off, but he trusted Bart. He went down the list, inspecting each piece of produce he picked out, down to each individual blueberry—can’t blame a guy for having high standards.</p><p>As he tied the last bag, Bart came jogging back with an animal plush under his arm.</p><p>“What’cha got there?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“An alpaca,” said Bart, “just like you wanted.”</p><p>“… I told you to get alfalfa.”</p><p>“What’s an alfalfa?”</p><p>Jaime put an arm around Bart’s shoulder. “It’s okay, <em> cariño</em>. Besides, I’m sure she’ll have a good laugh.” He nuzzled his face in Bart’s neck.</p><p>Bart giggled and put the alpaca in the cart. “What’s the last item on our list, babe?”</p><p>“Avocadoes,” said Jaime.</p><p>“Heck yeah, we are gonna make the world’s best guac.” Bart grabbed an avocado from the wooden stand and tossed it to Jaime. “Here ya go.”</p><p>Jaime caught it one-handed. He turned it over, examining it. “I don’t think this is ripe.”</p><p>“<em>Psh</em>, of course it is,” said Bart. “It’s <em> green</em>, isn’t it?”</p><p>“That’s not how it works, Bart. Let’s grab a different one.”</p><p>“I think it’s fine.”</p><p>Jaime pulled out his phone. “How about we call my mom and ask?”</p><p>“That works,” Bart said. “Get ready to eat your words.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Jaime opened FaceTime. It rang for about ten seconds before his mother answered, stifling a yawn. </p><p>“<em>Mijito</em>, this is a surprise,” she said. She squinted. “Are you at the store? It’s almost ten o’clock.”</p><p>Bart waved. “Hi, Mrs. Reyes. We just have a quick question for you.”</p><p>Jaime held up the avocado. “Is this ripe?”</p><p>“No, but…” She pointed behind them. “That one might be.”</p><p>“Awesome, thanks,” he said. “<em>Te quiero mucho</em>.”</p><p>Bianca blew a kiss and hung up. Jaime turned to Bart, smirking. “Told you so.”</p><p>This time, it was Bart’s turn to roll his eyes. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”</p><p>“Maybe I will,” he said. “In your face, Allen! I’m right and you’re wrong and there’s nothing you can do about it. Who’s a winner? I’m a winner. Victory is mine, or as Cyborg would say: <em> BOO-YAH!</em>” </p><p>Glee bubbled in his chest. A triumphant cackle rose through him and echoed through the liminal space. Not caring who watched, Jaime spun around in his produce aisle victory dance.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”</p><p>“I love you,” Bart repeated. “I-I know we’re <em> technically </em> not a thing and this isn’t what people usually do, but you know what I say: conventions…”</p><p>“Are fluid and arbitrary.” Jaime smiled softly. “I love you too.”</p><p>And just like that, they cut down the last of their chicken wire fences. Jaime always had the image of confessions as these grand displays with guitar serenades and rose petals on the floor in the shape of a heart. But this was none of that. This was the opposite. There was no jaw-slack, avocado-dropping, world-shattering epiphany. Just a statement of the obvious—a pleasant fact of life. </p><p>His hand rested on Bart’s waist. “You have no idea how amazing that feels to say.”</p><p>Their foreheads touched. Bart giggled, hands traveling to Jaime’s shoulders. “Can you believe it? We’re in <em>love</em>. With each other. <em> Together</em>.”</p><p>The giggle spread to Jaime. He ran his fingers through Bart’s silky soft hair and placed a peck on the tip of that adorable freckled nose. </p><p>After standing there for what felt like forever and no time at all, getting lost in each other’s eyes and laughter and innocent touches. Jaime had one foot on the ground and the other on a cloud. He swore he could die happy right now. The two probably would’ve stayed much longer had it not been for another shopper trying to get to the stand they blocked.</p><p>Jaime offered his hand with a terrible Old English accent. “Shall we go home then, <em> mi amor?</em>”</p><p>Bart took the offer with an equally horrendous French-German hybrid one. “We shall, my good man.”</p><p>Jaime was so busy trying not to melt into a puddle of goo that he didn’t notice Bart drop another impulse purchase into the cart until plastic hit metal. He looked to see a can of hot cocoa mix in the baby seat.</p><p>“What?” Bart asked. “It’s on sale. Plus, it’s the fancy European stuff you keep talking about.”</p><p>“You should’ve led with that,” Jaime said. He placed another two next to their sibling. “This is the <em> perfect </em> time to stock up.” He glanced at the label. “It’s even got marshmallows!”</p><p>They loaded the remaining space in their cart with the cheap-but-luxury plastic canisters. The two were like children with red wagons given free rein of Willy Wonka’s candy factory (Jaime made a mental note to show Bart that movie). </p><p>Bart whooped. “WE ARE UNSTOPPABLE!”</p><p>The only registers open were the self-checkouts. While Bart scanned the same hot chocolate can twelve times, Jaime noticed a college student staring at them, lip curled. </p><p>“I get it,” he said to the guy. “You’re jealous ‘cause we got all this hot chocolate and you don’t. Well, no one’s stopping you. You’re an adult—you can get all the cocoa you want too.”</p><p>(Only after leaving the store did Jaime realize the dude was probably a bigot.)</p><p>The pair made their way to the bus stop hand-in-hand. The streets were empty. Idly changing traffic lights reflected off the freshly laid asphalt. A few fireflies flickered, though there weren’t as many as there would be on the outskirts. A sliver of a moon peeked through the clouds. And Bart? He was the focal point of the picture.</p><p>In hindsight, Jaime should’ve seen it coming. In real life, people rarely fall in love in one fell swoop. It wasn’t like a dramatic fanfiction where people suddenly and unexpectedly find themselves neck-deep in emotions. It was more like stepping onto a forest trail, learning to navigate, picking each other up, and smelling the wildflowers along the way. It was <em>real</em>, which made it feel like even more of a fairytale. True love is predictable. Jaime had no doubt if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be afraid of Bart not feeling the same way.</p><p>Bart’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Hey Jaime, I’ll race you to the stop. Loser does laundry?”</p><p>Jaime adjusted the bags on his arm and grinned. “You’re on!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you’re curious about the bread recipe, I based it on <a href="https://www.5boysbaker.com/nutella-crunch-braid/">this</a>.</p><p>Translations<br/>• Ese = dude<br/>• Dulce sueños, mi velocista = sweet dreams, my speedster<br/>• Qué = what<br/>• Hermano = bro<br/>• Sopa de fideo = a Mexican noodle soup<br/>• Dios mío = oh my God<br/>• Lo prometo = I promise<br/>• No problema = no problem<br/>• Gordito = fatty<br/>• Cariño = sweetheart<br/>• Cállate = shut up<br/>• Fantástico = fantastic<br/>• Hola = hello<br/>• Sí, mi conejito = yes, my little bunny rabbit<br/>• Mijito = son<br/>• Te quiero mucho = I love you very much (non-romantic)<br/>• Mi amor = my love</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Bart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I swear this is the last one with song lyrics! Here we’re revisiting Starship’s <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZ_I0KZvezw"><em> Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now </em></a> with the second verse, pre-chorus, and chorus. As usual, the lyrics are in bold/italics.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>~ Day 261 ~</strong>
</p><p>Bart walked into the bedroom where Jaime was scrolling through some forum on his new laptop. He placed a steaming cup of cocoa on the desk and un-creased Jaime’s furrowed brow with a soft kiss. </p><p>“Please don’t tell me you’re stressing over taxes already, babe,” he said, cradling his own mug.</p><p>Jaime shook his head. “No, this is <em>way</em> worse. The readers noticed you disappeared from the comics a while back, but no one at DC’s addressed it. The fandom is getting restless and they’re taking it out on <em>my</em> forum. I’ve been modding all night, but the messages keep coming.” He rubbed his temples. “Worst part is, they’re also mad at <em>me</em> for not being online as much. Well, <em>I’m</em> <em>sorry</em>, sinestrostan1961, but not all of us can sit around all day bitching about the Injustice Superman characterization. Why don’t you get a job instead of living out of your mom’s basement, huh? See how easy it is to mod a forum and post chapter updates then, <em>loser</em>.”</p><p>“Babe.”</p><p>“… I think it’s time to log off.”</p><p>Bart patted Jaime’s shoulder. “Atta boy. How’s about you go change and I’ll keep your cocoa warm for you.”</p><p>“Does it involve your stomach?”</p><p>“I made extra.”</p><p>Jaime chuckled softly, planted a peck on Bart’s temple, and closed the laptop. “Be back in a few. Don’t miss me too much.”</p><p>“No promises,” said Bart.</p><p>As soon as the bathroom door closed, he set his mug down and yanked open the bottom dresser drawer, his pulse picking up. It overflowed with Bart’s underwear and socks. Nothing was folded and the socks weren’t paired with their match. Jaime refused to touch that drawer.</p><p>Which made it the <em>perfect </em>hiding spot. </p><p>Bart stuck his hand under the mound of gym socks and felt around. He needed to make sure it was there.</p><p>His fingers came across the laminated roll and a thick rubber band. He breathed a sigh of relief. So long as it remained <em>exactly </em>like that, the life he made was safe. The only reason he didn’t chuck it away was because he didn’t want to break his grandmother’s trust.</p><p>Bart closed the drawer and reached for a neon green hair tie from the pile in front of the mirror. That weight in his chest was back, as though he swallowed a dumbbell. It appeared every time Jaime mentioned the comics. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his reflection as he pulled his hair into a ponytail. </p><p>Had he been paying attention to the mirror, however, he would’ve noticed Jaime come up from behind and wrap his arms around Bart’s chest. </p><p>Bart finished tying his hair back. “How do I look?”</p><p>“You want me to judge your bedtime appearance?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Impressions matter, babe.”</p><p>Laughing, Jaime grabbed a hairbrush and spoke into it like a runway host. “Here we have Bart Allen with this summer’s Quarter Past Ten line.”</p><p>Bart spun around as Jaime described the outfit in great detail.</p><p>“He’s sporting one-of-a-kind Optimus Prime pajama pants, and by the looks of it, he’s single-handedly bringing back cartoons. And talk about those top-of-the-line bunny slippers made from the finest fuzz in Canada. To finish, we have a vintage Rio Grande High School sweatshirt stolen from my side of the closet.”</p><p>“Wow, way to call me out,” Bart said.</p><p>Jaime stuck his tongue out. “You <em>deserve </em>to be called out. Petition to cancel Bart for stealing my stuff.”</p><p>“I’ll drink your cocoa.”</p><p>Jaime gasped. “You wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Wanna bet?”</p><p>“Finish yours first, then we can talk.” Jaime grabbed his mug and took a sip.</p><p>It probably wasn’t a good idea to bring scalding hot chocolate onto the bed; Bart had a close call when moving the blankets. But they figured it out. Swirling steam filled the room with a decadent chocolate aroma. </p><p>He rested his head on Jaime’s shoulder. “Just out of curiosity, what <em> are </em> the fans saying?”</p><p>Jaime exhaled. “It’s across the board. Some folks blame computer viruses. Others are blaming artists for lazy retconning, trying to get refunds on defective products, and accusing Marvel of corporate sabotage. One dude posted this ten-page Matrix-style conspiracy theory that got a lot of likes.” He chucked and took a sip. “My followers keep asking me what I think, but something tells me they’re gonna have a hard time believing the answer.”</p><p>Bart smiled. “At least you got something to hold over their heads. It’s like how Kate Middleton had posters of Prince William on her wall. Or like how Asami kept a hand-drawn picture of Tye in a locket <em> way </em> before they started dating.”</p><p>“She did what now?”</p><p>“You’d know if you went to girls trivia night at Brenda’s,” he said. “I could’ve used a pop culture nerd on my team. Did you know Bruce Wayne is Batman?”</p><p>“Remind me next time,” Jaime said. “I’ll win it for the both of us.”</p><p>Bart stifled a yawn. He downed the last of his drink and nestled into Jaime’s side, sighing contently. “Thank God I got the warm partner.”</p><p>“You think <em> I’m </em>warm? You’re a human space heater.” He paused for a second. “Wait, did you say <em> ‘partner’</em>?”</p><p>Bart shrugged. “Well, yeah. It’s a pretty ambiguous term. It’s, like, are we in love? Are we robbing a bank? Are we cowboys? Are we spies on a top-secret mission to take down the Russian mafia? Nobody knows!” He scratched the back of his head.” Er, if that’s cool with you.”</p><p>Jaime booped Bart’s nose. “It’s perfect, <em> cariño</em>.”</p><p>Bart placed a pillow under his knee. He fiddled with the empty mug as silence blanketed the room. Their fingers laced together. On the nightstand, the seconds ticked in time with their heartbeats. The digital clock’s glowing digits cast an ambient glow on the rim of the porcelain cup. Next to the time was the date: <em> August 16th</em>.</p><p>“Ever wonder about the future?” asked Jaime.</p><p>“All the time,” Bart said. “I’m placing my bets on flying cars by 2099 and a full-fledged Mars colony by 2200.”</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes, smiling. “You know that’s not what I meant.”</p><p>“I know, babe.” </p><p>The longer Bart stared, the more the mug looked like a bottomless void. His stomach churned. He swallowed the lump in his throat and placed the mug on the nightstand, hidden behind the alarm clock. </p><p>“Wanna see who can do the best impression of Beast Boy?”</p><p>Jaime finished his drink. “Depends, which version of him?”</p><p>“Teen Titans,” Bart said. “Pretty sure he’s, like, forever fourteen.”</p><p>“DC won’t let him grow up, will they?” Jaime set the cup aside. “I’ll go first.” He cleared his throat. “<em>‘Cyborg, my man, what’s crack-a-lackin’? BB in the house! Wanna grab some pizza and swing by Raven’s place ‘cause she’s totally in love with me.’</em>”</p><p>Bart nearly fell off the bed laughing. “Dude, I don’t think I can top that.”</p><p>He tucked his arms inside the sweatshirt. Flailing his little dino hands around, he let out the most horrendous reptilian screech.</p><p>From the other side of the wall, the neighbor shouted, “<em>Shut up!</em>”</p><p>Jaime almost choked on his spit. “What <em> was </em> that?”</p><p>“That’s Gar when he turned into a velociraptor on a mission,” Bart said.</p><p>“Animal noises don’t count,” said Jaime.</p><p>“Why not?” Bart asked. “He’s Beast Boy, so anything is fair game.”</p><p>Jaime scoffed. “You <em> always </em> win on technicalities.”</p><p>“What can I say?” Bart flipped his ponytail. “I’m a sophisticated intellectual. It’s what you love most about me.”</p><p>“None of those words are true.” Jaime handed Bart his cup. “Can you put these in the dishwasher before we get ants?”</p><p>“Sure thing.” Bart grabbed his own mug and placed a quick kiss on the tip of Jaime’s nose (he loved the way it scrunched up and elicited a giggle).</p><p>As he walked past the ajar storage closet, a piece of orange plastic caught his eye. He quickly rinsed the mugs before snatching the pair of water guns and filling them with cold water from the bathroom sink. </p><p>Bart burst through the door with a two-pronged attack. Jaime screamed and held up a pillow as a shield.</p><p>“<em>Ese</em>, what the hell?!?”</p><p>Bart tossed a water gun to Jaime. “Last one up the fire escape makes breakfast in the morning.”</p><p>Leaping out of bed, Jaime caught the gun one-handed. “You’re on!”</p><p>Bart raced through the living room toward the balcony, shrieking like a teenager when Jaime landed a frigid hit on the small of his back. </p><p>He yanked the door open and scrambled up the landing. The iron grate sent an adrenaline-like chill through his sock and up his spine. </p><p>He shot twice. One hit Jaime in the chest; the other, his face.</p><p>Each footstep rattled the rungs. They came in fours, with Jaime mere inches behind. Bart’s skin cooled as the water evaporated into the warm summer breeze.</p><p>A jutting screw snagged Bart’s pant leg. Jaime seized the opportunity to push past the last steps. The gravel crunched under his foot.</p><p>“No fair!” Bart freed his leg.</p><p>Jaime stuck his tongue out. Bart tackled him. They hit the roof's rough surface as one, round gray pebbles sticking to the sweat on his forearms.</p><p>Jaime exclaimed, “Get your hair out of my mouth!”</p><p>“Maybe you should get your mouth out of my hair,” said Bart.</p><p>Jaime shoved him off. Bart tossed the water gun aside and placed his hand on top of Jaime’s. Neither spoke as they caught their breaths. Their eyes met.</p><p>Jaime squeezed his hand. “<em>This </em> is what I love most about you.”</p><p>“You love that I swallowed a pebble just now?”</p><p>Jaime rolled over and booped Bart’s nose. “I love when you do stuff like this. You remind me to have fun. Plus, you make good waffles, which is what I want for breakfast.”</p><p>“Right, I forgot about the bet.”</p><p>“You better not have,” Jaime said, standing up. “I’m holding you to it.”</p><p>Bart stretched his arms out. “Carry me?”</p><p>“Down a narrow fire escape? Nice try.” Jaime gave him a hand up and brushed the dust off Bart’s clothes. </p><p>“In that case,” Bart said, “Last one inside takes out the trash!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 283 ~</strong>
</p><p>“—and Jaime was convinced for an entire <em>month </em> that snails were secretly security cameras planted by aliens!” Chuckling, Alberto wiped a tear from his eye. “Ah, good times.”</p><p>Bart rested his elbows on the hood of the newly repaired Corvette. “How did you guys un-convince him?”</p><p>“Bianca and I didn’t,” Alberto said. “Tye stepped on a snail and Jaime saw there were no camera parts.”</p><p>The next vehicle pulled in—a graffiti-covered white van that smells like, to put it lightly, herbs. Its driver hopped out with an obese cat under his arm and took the clipboard Alberto gave him. Meanwhile, their other mechanic—a middle-aged guy named Luis—parked the Corvette in the lot before checking out for his lunch break.</p><p>“He says he doesn’t know what’s wrong,” Alberto said, clicking his pen. “He mentioned rear-ending someone a week ago, but it wasn’t anything major. Run a diagnostics, will you?”</p><p>“On it.” Bart tightened his ponytail, pushed up the blue jumpsuit sleeves, and grabbed the laptop stashed with the snacks Jaime made. He hopped into the driver’s seat, plugged it in, and tapped a few keys. </p><p>While the information slowly loaded, he asked Alberto, “Any new restaurants open lately? I wanna take Jaime to dinner, but we’ve kinda been everywhere.”</p><p>Alberto raised an eyebrow. “Any special occasion?”</p><p>“Nope, just feel like trying something new.” Bart turned back to the computer. To the untrained eye, the page of code was nothing more than alphabet soup. He interpreted it aloud. “There’s battery corrosion because of a coolant reservoir leakage.”</p><p>“Huh?” asked the customer.</p><p>Bart hopped out and popped the hood open. He motioned the customer closer and began explaining. </p><p>“This is the coolant reservoir.” He pointed to a translucent white jug. “It’s what regulates your vehicle’s temperature, so it doesn’t overheat in the summer or freeze in the winter. But it sprung a leak—probably when you rear-ended the other car—which leads us to this.” He pointed to a black box on the left side, which had a thick layer of blue mold-like residue built up by the coolant spill. “It corroded your battery, which, if left untreated, decreases the battery’s life and performance capability. Does that make sense?”</p><p>The customer nodded like a student finally understanding a math problem. “How do we fix it?”</p><p>Bart examined the battery again, humming. “Doesn’t look like we have to repair it. All we gotta do is remove the battery, clean it, and replace your coolant tank. Mr. Reyes, can you get him a time and cost estimate?”</p><p>Alberto said, “Sure thing, follow me.”</p><p>While he and the customer stepped into an office, Bart began disconnecting the wires and placed the heavy battery on a workbench. The rotating fan blew a humid breeze on his face. </p><p>Alberto came out a couple of minutes later saying, “I’ve got him filling out the paperwork. I also remembered there’s a Korean barbecue that opened recently. I’ll text you the address. It also has a bar, karaoke lounge, and game room. Just don’t have <em> too </em> much fun, you hear me?” </p><p>He playfully elbowed Bart, who wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to laugh along. </p><p>A girl’s voice rang through the garage. “What’cha guys laughing about?”</p><p>“Ah, Milagro!” Alberto greeted his daughter with a hug. “What brings you in? Shouldn’t you be at school?”</p><p>“Some kid flooded the second floor so they let us out early,” Milagro said, twirling her phone and new driver’s license on a cherry-pink lanyard. She blew a bubblegum bubble. “Y’all taken your lunch breaks yet?”</p><p>“I have,” Alberto said. “Bart hasn’t.”</p><p>Bart checked his watch. It was half-past one, and his stomach grumbled in response to that information. He’d been snacking all morning, but it was all grapes and orange slices. </p><p>“I can take over,” said Alberto. “Why don’t you grab something to eat before you swallow this battery.”</p><p>Milagro said, “Perfect timing! I can drive us to <em> abuela’s </em> restaurant—employee discount and whatnot.” </p><p>“By the way,” Alberto said, “nice job with the customer back there. It’s good to know my son chose an honest young man.”</p><p>Bart awkwardly chuckled. “Yep, that’s me. Real honest dude.”</p><p>“Agreed,” Milagro said.</p><p>There was a gleam in her eye. Her jet black waves bounced when she tossed her hair over her shoulder. She gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek and motioned Bart into the car. </p><p>As they pulled out of the lot, she asked, “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Bart said.</p><p>“Cool, cool.”</p><p>Milagro hummed absently as she merged onto the busy street. He squeezed the grab handle because <em>holy moly </em>did this girl drive fast. Like, how did she even get her license? She rolled down the windows and raised the volume on her Harry Styles album.</p><p>“What’d you do over the weekend?” she asked.</p><p>“Jaime and I saw a movie on Friday,” Bart said, scratching the back of his head. “And on Saturday we went to the art museum.”</p><p>“I didn’t see any posts about them.”</p><p>“Jaime’s not big on sharing personal stuff on the internet,” Bart said. “We got pictures, but, like, we’re keeping those to ourselves.”</p><p>“Good. And life’s going swimmingly? Work, friends, whatever.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Wrong answer. Try again.”</p><p>Bart sighed. “I’m not gonna tell you the details, but there were some issues with Jaime’s job, plus the usual day-to-day stuff. But, you know, we get through it together.”</p><p>“Correct.”</p><p>She pulled into the semi-crowded restaurant parking lot. After saying hello to all the relatives, they grabbed a corner booth. Milagro’s sugar-sweet smile disappeared as soon as the server took their orders and walked away.</p><p>“I’m gonna cut to the chase.” She pulled a thin paperback out of her bookbag and slapped it onto the table. “Yes or no: is this you?”</p><p>Bart blinked as she slid a comic book toward him, pointing at the young red-and-white–clad speedster on the cover underneath the title.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Young Justice #1</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Never heard of him,” he said.</p><p>She raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I swear, that’s not me!”</p><p>She gave a long “mhmm” and crossed her arms.</p><p>He wasn’t the unstoppable force he was in the comics. But Milagro Reyes was an immovable object—a mountain akin to Kilimanjaro. Her bronze eyes bore past his flimsy curtain of excuses. His mouth went dry.</p><p>She leaned forward. “I can do this all day, <em> Impulse</em>.”</p><p>Bart relented. “Fine.” He lowered his voice. “That <em>is </em>me. I fell through a portal mid-battle and now I’m here.”</p><p>“And the first person you ran into was Jaime?”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” he said. “I kinda appeared in <em>his</em> <em>room</em>.”</p><p>She took a sip of water. “You’ve been here a while. Any idea how you’re gonna get back? The story’s not complete without you, and the fandom’s asking a lot of questions. I’ve seen, like, <em> so </em> many TikTok theories it’s not even funny.”</p><p>“The portal is in a Hawkman special,” he said, “which, incidentally, is at the bottom of my sock drawer.”</p><p>“Does Jaime know?”</p><p>The ensuing silence was damning, and Bart had no one but himself to pin it on. He could feel Milagro’s disappointment as though he was underwater. Why did he say yes to this lunch?</p><p>She continued. “You don’t want to leave.”</p><p>Was he <em>that </em>transparent? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t swallow the dry lump in his throat. It was like trying to pass a kidney stone. Actually, Bart preferred passing a kidney stone to enduring her lambasting gaze. Although her suspicions had been confirmed, curiosity shone through her irises. </p><p>“Why?”</p><p>He glanced out the window. Somewhere in the sprawling city, Jaime was helping some poor kid with gum in their braces. Or perhaps he’s grabbing a drink at that Italian coffee shop—he loves a good cappuccino and the café balcony’s view of Main Street. The image left a warm feeling in Bart’s chest.</p><p>“I’m not exactly subtle about it.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” She took another sip. “So you stumbled into this world and accidentally fell in love with my brother.” Like everything else she said until now, it was a statement rather than a question. “It’s almost like that Counting Crows song.”</p><p>“Winding up here was an accident,” he said. “Everything else is not.”</p><p>She placed a hand on his arm. “The longer you keep things to yourself, the messier the fallout’s gonna be when he finds out. I’ve seen secrets destroy so many relationships and I don’t want it to happen to you.”</p><p>“I understand. I’ll… figure out a way to tell him,” Bart said. “But now I’m kinda curious about what you’ve seen.”</p><p>Milagro laughed. “Oh, it’s this whole drama with this guy in AP Euro asking out two sisters to the spring formal.”</p><p>The food arrived, the scent clearing the air. As Bart dug into his enchiladas, he said, “Tell me more.”</p><p>“Alright, but to get the complete story, we gotta start <em> way </em> back in seventh grade…”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 306 ~</strong>
</p><p>Closing his eyes, Bart inhaled the sweet fruity floral perfume of the hibiscus and dragon fruit bath bomb cupped in his hands.</p><p>“Add this to the Yay Pile.”</p><p>“Bart, we have enough bath bombs to stack them in the tub,” said Jaime.</p><p>“Only that many?” Bart asked. “We need to restock ASAP.”</p><p>Brenda cut in, a small Lush bag hanging from her fingers. “You guys need to check out ASAP. We’re moving on to American Eagle.”</p><p>Bart and Jaime each picked a bath bomb from the colorful array. As Jaime counted out the cash, Bart tossed in a bar of soap shaped like an orange slice. Jaime gave him a confused look.</p><p>“What?” he said. “It smells nice.”</p><p>As they—along with Tye, Asami, Paco, and Brenda—made their way through the bustling shopping mall, Bart couldn’t help but reminisce. It seemed like yesterday he was picking out his first set of clothes to fill his side of the shared closet. Jaime must’ve thought the same thing, for when they passed the shop, he took Bart’s hand with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye. Bart planted a kiss on his partner’s cheek.</p><p>“We get it, y’all are adorable,” Tye said, arms crossed. “Asami wants fro-yo, so any of y’all want me to grab something for you?”</p><p>Orders flooded in like a diner breakfast rush. Tye <em>almost </em>kept up with everything as he tapped away at his phone. <em> Almost</em>.</p><p>“Everyone who ain’t Bart, tell me what toppings you want.”</p><p>“Why not me?” Bart asked.</p><p>“‘Cause it’s the same each time: one of everything,” Tye said. “Paco, Asami, I need y’all’s help to carry them.”</p><p>Bart, Jaime, and Brenda split up two ways upon entering the store—Jaime one way to look at jeans, and Bart and Brenda the other way toward the autumn-themed dresses. </p><p>Bart pulled a brown skirt with orange leaf patterns off the rack. “How does this look?”</p><p>“Clashes with the rest of your clothes, as usual,” said Brenda. “But, like, it works. You’re the only person I know who can pull off mismatching outfits.”</p><p>“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. “See anything you like?”</p><p>She pulled a ruffled white blouse from a different rack. “This’ll be perfect for my Halloween costume.”</p><p>“Halloween costume?”</p><p>Brenda slapped her forehead. “I forgot to tell you guys, didn’t I? My bad, I’ve been <em>super </em>busy. There’s a Halloween party next month at the community center. Tickets are five bucks and all proceeds go to the humane society. I’m gonna enter the solo costume contest as an angel.”</p><p>“That sounds awesome!” he said. “I can’t even <em> remember </em> the last time I dressed up for Halloween.”</p><p>“You and Jaime should enter the couple’s contest,” she said. “I guarantee you’ll have at least four votes—six if you vote for yourselves, but I don’t think that’s allowed. I wanted to enter that one with Paco, but he, Asami, and Tye are entering the group contest as the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”</p><p>“I think we’re free that day. Lemme check with Jaime.” Bart searched the store. “Babe?”</p><p>He spotted Jaime perusing the racks across the store, but what caught his eye was not his partner. Several feet away, an employee pretended to organize the shelves. Every time Jaime moved, so did the worker—and the former was completely unaware. </p><p>Brenda noticed it too; her lip curled and an incredulous scoff left her mouth. “Unbelievable! It’s the twenty-first century, people should know better.”</p><p>“I have an idea,” Bart said. “I’ll pretend to get hurt and distract the employee so Jaime can finish his shopping, and in the meantime, you go submit a complaint at the desk.”</p><p>“What if it backfires?” she asked.</p><p>“It won’t,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”</p><p>Whistling nonchalantly, Bart strolled over to where the employee could hear him. </p><p>He “tripped”. And to make it even more convincing, he let out a pained cry and knocked over a mannequin.</p><p>The employee turned to him. “Are you okay, sir? Do I need to call for help?”</p><p>
  <em> So far, so good. </em>
</p><p>“It’s my knee,” Bart said. “I have a prosthetic. I think it went haywire.”</p><p>Jaime swooped in, concern painting his face. “Does it hurt, <em> amor</em>? Tell me where it hurts. How long has it been like this? <em> Dios mío</em>, why didn’t you say something sooner?”</p><p>
  <em> Abort mission, abort mission. </em>
</p><p>Bart fake-winced as Jaime helped him up. The employee offered to call someone, but Bart brushed her off. He ignored Brenda’s <em> “I told you so” </em> look as he let Jaime guide him to a bench outside the store. </p><p>Jaime gestured for Bart to roll up his leggings. “<em>Odio verte con dolor</em>. Let me look, <em> cariño</em>. I think I have some pain cream somewhere in here.” </p><p>He dug furiously through his jacket pockets, which made Bart feel all the worse for saying, “There’s no injury. I was only pretending.”</p><p>“What?” Jaime asked. “Why would you do that? You had me worried sick!”</p><p>“That employee was tailing you,” Bart said. “I was trying to get her to leave you alone. I that backfired.”</p><p>“Yeah, it did,” Jaime said. “I’m not sure if I should kiss you or kick you.”</p><p>“I’ll take the first one, please.”</p><p>Jaime’s hand caressed Bart’s cheek. Their faces moved closer. Bart’s hands moved to Jaime’s shoulders. Their noses brushed.</p><p>“Alright, the complaint is in,” Brenda said. “They said they’ll ‘take a look’, which we all know is white people talk for they’re gonna shred it as soon as we’re gone. But it’s the effort that counts, right?”</p><p>The two jumped apart. Confused, she asked, “Did I interrupt something?” </p><p>“Nope, you’re fine,” Jaime said. “We were just, uh, gonna meet the others at the fro-yo stand.”</p><p>“Bet I can beat you both there,” she said.</p><p>Bart chuckled. “I’m sure you could.”</p><p>They let Brenda get the head start she so desperately wanted. Bart was fine with taking his time. </p><p>Jaime planted a kiss on Bart’s cheek. “Thanks for looking out for me.”</p><p>Bart wrapped his arms around Jaime. “It’s nothing. I know you’d do the same for me.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 335 ~</strong>
</p><p>Bart heaved a heavy package onto the kitchen counter with a resounding thud. Jaime poked his head into the room.</p><p>“Is it here?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Yep,” Bart said. “Both of them are.”</p><p>Jaime sliced the box open with his keys. He tossed over his shoulder the bed of bubble wrap. Bart took the sea of polyester into his hands as though it was fine imported silk and inhaled the new package scent.</p><p>Jaime held up what looked like a shimmering gold blanket. “Check it out, yours even comes with the cape. Not all versions of canon have that, you know.”</p><p>“Seriously? I think <em>all </em>speedsters should have capes. Whoever drew that is <em>genius</em>. But yours comes with a compressed air gun, which if you ask me, is <em> way </em> cooler.”</p><p>“We’re <em>totally </em>gonna win the nerd vote,” Jaime said. “Right, <em> cariño</em>?”</p><p>“You know it, babe.”</p><p>He re-folded the costumes, tucked the plastic props in the soft fabric, and stored the box safely in the closet for Halloween night. Meanwhile, Jaime pulled open the sofa bed, dimmed the lights, and put <em> Jurassic Park </em>on the TV. </p><p>He patted the spot next to him. Bart climbed in and pulled the fuzzy throw blanket over their bodies. Jaime buried his face in Bart’s hair, planting a kiss there.</p><p>Bart felt Jaime braiding small segments of his hair throughout the film. He could only assume the latter had a stressful day on the job. Bart leaned into the fingernails gently carding through his mane and massaging his scalp.</p><p>He draped one leg over Jaime’s lap. “We should bring back the dinosaurs.”</p><p>“We’re literally watching a movie about why that’s a terrible idea.”</p><p>“And <em>this </em>is why I love you,” he said. “You keep all my terrible ideas in check.”</p><p>“Right, ‘cause you were just about to genetically zap up a triceratops.”</p><p>A few minutes passed before Bart asked, “What do you wanna watch next?”</p><p>“Didn’t you rent <em> Jumanji </em>?”</p><p>“Yeah, and then <em>completely </em>forgot about it ‘cause of all my overtime shifts,” he said. “Be a doll and grab it from my sock drawer.”</p><p>“Looks like you’re finally getting that Southern twang,” Jaime said. “Next thing you know, you’ll be ragging on Tennessee’s barbecue.”</p><p>“‘Cause Texas does it better!” Bart said.</p><p>Chuckling, Jaime paused the TV and got up, the mattress creaking as he shifted. Bart waited patiently. He could hear Jaime rooting through the drawer on the other side of the paper-thin wall.</p><p>Jaime stormed back in with the Hawkman comic in hand.</p><p>“What’s this?”</p><p>Bart’s mouth went dry and any words he had died in his throat.</p><p>“Let me rephrase that, ‘cause you and I know damn well what it is,” Jaime said. “How long have you had it?”</p><p>Bart winced at the cutting tone. “Since the boardwalk. My, uh, Grandma Iris kinda hopped over from the other dimension and gave it to me.”</p><p>Jaime balked. “<em>That </em> long?”</p><p>Bart nodded. </p><p>“Unbelievable.” Jaime slapped the comic onto the coffee table and threw his hands in the air. “You’ve been <em> lying </em> to me this whole time!”</p><p>“<em>Technically, </em> I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t say anything.”</p><p>Jaime crossed his arms. “A lie by omission is still a lie. We’re supposed to <em>trust </em>each other. Or was that a one-sided relationship this whole time?”</p><p>“<em>Nonono</em>, not at all!” Panic rose in Bart’s chest. “I trust you! I trust you more than anyone—”</p><p>“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Jaime asked. “Instead, you kept it from me for God-knows-how-many days.”</p><p>“Two hundred and seventy-five,” Bart supplied.</p><p>“See, I stopped counting ‘cause I thought this was our new life. But now I learned you can pick up and leave whenever the hell you want, and it won’t matter that you’re leaving behind everything we built.”</p><p>“Babe, that’s not true,” Bart said. “I’d <em>never </em>do that. You have to believe me.”</p><p>“Frankly, I’m not sure what to believe,” said Jaime. “You lied about this, so who knows what else you could’ve been lying about.”</p><p>“Jaime…”</p><p>Said man raised his voice. “I thought you were staying for good. I <em> let myself </em>love you because you made me feel safe even though it’s the biggest risk I’ve taken. Do you even care? Or am I just another throwaway side character in your grand heroic arc?”</p><p>Bart raised his voice in tandem. “You’re not even letting me speak! I <em> care</em>. I care about you more than I cared about anything in my world—which, by the way, I don’t even <em> wanna </em> go back to ‘cause there’s <em> nothing </em> for me there.”</p><p>“Then why did you keep the comic, huh? Why not throw it out or give it away?”</p><p>Bart faltered. “I… I don’t know.”</p><p>Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get out.”</p><p>“W-what?”</p><p>“This is a lot to process and just… get out, please.”</p><p>Bart grabbed a jacket raced into the chilly night. Tears blurred his eyes, not unlike the low-hanging clouds masking the sky. The autumn gale whipped through his windbreaker as he did the one thing he knew best:</p><p>
  <em> Run. </em>
</p><p>He didn’t know where he was going, and he sure as hell didn’t care when a car swerved and honked at him, the driver cursing him out through an open window as he cut across the road. His hair brushed his face, the fine strands sticking to the droplets rolling down his cheeks. He should’ve listened to Milagro. No, he should’ve left that stupid comic book at the spot his grandmother stood. Everything he ever wanted was coming apart like poorly bound pages, and he had no one to blame but himself.</p><p>Only when his lungs dried into an arid plain did he stop under the awning of a closed bakery. His fingers latched onto the iron grate as he doubled over to catch his breath. </p><p><em> Where was he? </em> He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running—it could’ve been a full marathon for all he knew. Bart fumbled through his pockets until he found his phone. It was at three percent battery, but that should be enough for a call. He let his thumb pick for him.</p><p>It rang twice before the line clicked.</p><p>“Bart? I thought you and Jaime were having a movie night,” said Brenda.</p><p>“We were,” Bart said. “Then some stuff happened and I need you to pick me up.”</p><p>In the background, he heard Paco ask. Brenda answered in Spanish before focusing back on Bart. “Where from?”</p><p>“Uh…” Bart spotted a street sign illuminated by the attached yellow lamp. “On the corner of East and Tenth, next to a bakery.” His phone beeped, and he added, “Hurry, my phone’s about to die.”</p><p>Keys jingled. “Hang tight, I’m on my way.”</p><p>He didn’t need to hang up; his phone did that form him. With no way to recharge, there was nothing left to do but pull his jacket close and try to ignore the fact that this side of town gave him the heebie-jeebies. He was a <em> dude </em>wearing a <em> skirt </em>standing <em>alone </em>at <em>night </em>in <em> Texas</em>, and he didn’t have superpowers to save him. </p><p>And, of course, the multiverse picked right now to remind him that.</p><p>Bart averted his gaze as two burly men—one with a cowboy hat, another with a beard and biker garb—approached. He crossed his fingers they were just passing by. </p><p>
  <em> Nope. </em>
</p><p>The biker took one look at him and snickered. “Check it out, a lost little fairy.”</p><p>Bart kept his eyes down, pretending to check his dead phone. One of them knocked it out of his fingers. A large hand shoved him against the brick wall.</p><p>“Just in case ya dint hear, he was talkin’ ‘bout <em>you</em>, lil’ man,” said the cowboy. </p><p>“Can’t really call him a <em> man</em>, can we?” The bike laughed. “Not when he’s cross-dressing like <em> that</em>.”</p><p>“I-I don’t want any trouble,” Bart said. “I’m just waiting for my ride.”</p><p>“We don’t want no trouble,” said the cowboy.</p><p>“Yeah, we’re just gon’ teach you a quick lesson.” The biker cracked his knuckles. “See, I don’t know where you came from, but this here is God’s country, and <em> pansies </em> are considered an invasive species.”</p><p>A sharp sting ran through Bart’s cheek. Another fist hurtled toward him. His Flash reflexes kicked in. He caught the punch in the middle of its trajectory and pushed the sender—the cowboy—back with a kick to the shin. </p><p>The biker snarled. A foot to the stomach brought Bart to his knees. His palms scraped against the concrete. </p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the cold flat of a switchblade against his neck and his thoughts arrived at the horrifying realization that he might not win this—that he could very well die on a dirty street in the seedy side of town and Jaime would never know how much Bart loved him and how sorry he was.</p><p>The blade clattered to the ground. The sound of cartilage crunching made Bart open his eyes, and the first thing he saw: the biker bleeding from one ear. He traced it to a sparkly pink purse, then to a heaving Asami holding said purse.</p><p>Bart pulled himself up. “Jeez, what’s in that thing, rocks?”</p><p>“Close.” She pulled out a small cinderblock. “For emergencies.”</p><p>Meanwhile, Brenda, with rings on all ten fingers, struck the cowboy with a right hook. The biker lunged at Asami. She sidestepped, pinned his arm between his shoulders, and rammed him gut-first into a parking meter. </p><p>Bart helped Brenda by tackling the cowboy. Brenda ripped the cords off the man’s hands and together they tied his wrists behind his back.</p><p>It was all a temporary fix. As soon as she tightened the knot, Brenda said, “Car. <em> Now</em>.”</p><p>Bart didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped into the back and had barely put on his seatbelt before Brenda hit the gas.</p><p>Once the ugly scene disappeared and they merged with the other faceless vehicles on the freeway, she asked, “How the <em> hell </em> did you wind up all the way out here?!?”</p><p>Bart rubbed the back of his neck, which hurt like hell from being thrown against a wall. “It’s a long story.”</p><p>Traffic came to a standstill.</p><p>Brenda said, “We have time.”</p><p>Asami handed Bart an instant ice pack from the dashboard, and he recounted the evening’s events. </p><p>By the end, Brenda gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. “<em>Stupid</em>. Both of you are so painfully <em> stupid</em>.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You for keeping secrets and Jaime for making you leave,” Asami said. “Look what happened!”</p><p>Bart crossed his arms in part out of frustration and in part because the car’s heater wasn’t working. “Who’s side are you on?”</p><p>“Both. Neither. I dunno,” said Brenda. “There are no sides. You’re <em> both </em> our friends and we don’t wanna see anyone get hurt.”</p><p>He adjusted his ice pack. “Little late for that.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Asami said. “I told Tye and Paco to talk to Jaime. The longer a fight lasts, the more painful it is. You are going to talk like <em> adults </em> and make everything right.”</p><p>Bart’s stomach churned. He leaned back against the worn leather seat, closed his eyes, and fell into a dreamless sleep.</p><p>He woke up a few minutes later in front of his apartment to Brenda poking him in the face. He swatted her finger away and rubbed his eyes.</p><p>“Thank God,” she said. “For a second I thought you had a concussion or something—I’ve been trying to wake you for three minutes. Come on, Jaime’s waiting inside with the others.”</p><p>Bart stretched and let Brenda guide him despite knowing the building like the back of his hand. On their way up, they passed Tye and Paco slumped in the lobby armchairs—the former looking annoyed and the latter disappointed.</p><p>Brenda escorted him off the elevator where Asami waited outside the apartment. </p><p>Bart bit his lip. “You’ll be here if things don’t…” </p><p>The girls nodded. Sucking in a breath, Bart turned the knob.</p><p>He didn’t even get a word out before a pair of strong, familiar arms engulfed him, and he didn’t hesitate to return the gesture.</p><p>Jaime began rambling. “I’ve been trying to call you ever since Tye told me what happened, but it kept going to voicemail and I-I thought something happened and—” He buried his face in Bart’s shoulder. “<em>Oh God, I was so scared</em>.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Bart said. “You were right, I shouldn’t have lied to you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have overreacted like I did,” said Jaime.</p><p>“Can we just, like, talk? I don’t want one fight getting in the way of everything.”</p><p>“As long as you let me look at your injuries,” Jaime said. </p><p>Bart followed Jaime into the bathroom. It was a déjà vu moment as he sat on the edge of the tub watching Jaime pop open the first aid kit. He winced when Jaime dabbed ointment onto his bruised cheek, and Jaime mumbled an apology. </p><p>As they moved on to the scraped palms, Bart asked, “Are you, like, still mad?”</p><p>Jaime sighed. “I was never <em>angry</em>, Bart. I was <em>hurt </em>that you weren’t honest with me. You know I wouldn’t be upset at your decision to stay, right?”</p><p>“I know now,” Bart said, smiling softly.</p><p>“Of course, I still wanna know <em>why</em>,” Jaime said. “Knowing what you do now, you can change how the story turns out and live a superhero’s dream and go on as many adventures as you want.”</p><p>“They wouldn’t be the same.” Bart caressed Jaime’s face. “I’m <em>happy </em>here, Jaime. Every day with you is an adventure and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”</p><p>Jaime placed his hand on top of Bart’s. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”</p><p>Bart scooted closer. “Have I ever told you the same?”</p><p>“No more secrets from now on, promise?”</p><p>He placed a kiss on Jaime’s cheek. “I promise.”</p><p>From the other side of the wall, there was a loud banging coupled with Brenda shouting, “Can we leave now?”</p><p>“Yes, you can leave,” Jaime said equally loudly.</p><p>Bart thought for a second. “I wonder if we can still finish the story. I mean, I owe the fans that much, right? Even if it’s not the narrative they knew.”</p><p>Jaime said, “It’s your story. Whatever you wanna write, I’m with you all the way—unless you decide to be a psychotic mass murderer again.”</p><p>“Again?”</p><p>“We don’t talk about the New-52.” He pressed a kiss to Bart’s temple. “For now, let’s get some rest.”</p><p>Bart held out his arms. “Carry me?”</p><p>Laughing, Jaime scooped him up.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~ Day 337 ~</strong>
</p><p>This was Bart’s first <em>real </em> Halloween party, so it was only natural that he spent the entire evening by the snack table, a glow-in-the-dark frozen margarita in one hand and his phone in the other showing Jaime a clip from Unsolved Mysteries. His gold cape brushed against Jaime’s blue boots every time he moved. Not even the loudest bass drop could distract him from their heated discussion.</p><p>“—and that’s why I think D. B. Cooper was an extraterrestrial being sent to gather a sample of Earth currency to log in the intergalactic finance department.” Bart took a sip of his drink.</p><p>“Honestly, I’m gonna go Occam’s Razor and say he didn’t survive the jump,” Jaime said, popping open a can of orange soda. “The wilderness is a big place, and it’s easy to lose a body.”</p><p>“A dead body with a quarter million in cash and four parachutes?”</p><p>Jaime shrugged and took a swig. “Animals could’ve picked it apart.” He took off the fogged-up yellow-tinted goggles and peeled off the teal cowl. “Jeez, how does Ted Kord wear these?”</p><p>Bart un-snagged the corner of his cape from a potted plant and lifted his gold visor. “I could say the same for Michael Carter.”</p><p>Jaime said, “Plus, this spandex is giving me a wedgie. Why do heroes do this to themselves?”</p><p>“It’s an acquired taste.”</p><p>Just then, Brenda swung by in her white-and-silver wings-and-halo getup with a champagne flute in her hand. She said to Jaime, “After all this time, I thought you’d be doing something other than stand in the corner hogging all the pretzels. Why don’t you go talk to someone?”</p><p>Jaime gestured between him and Bart. “I <em> am </em> talking to someone.”</p><p>Brenda rolled her eyes fondly. “By the way, I cast my vote for you guys. Well, and them.” She pointed to Tye, Paco, and Asami, who were dressed as a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe respectively. “Good luck with the contest.”</p><p>“You too,” they both said.</p><p>The song changed after she left. It sounded… familiar. Judging by Jaime’s face, he must’ve recognized it too. Halfway into the first chorus, it clicked.</p><p>Jaime held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”</p><p>Blushing, Bart took it, and they made their way to the floor as one. Bart placed his hands on Jaime’s shoulders. Gazing into those dark chocolate eyes, Bart saw the universe as it was the moment of the Big Bang. The party faded away. It was just him, the music, and the man he’d jump multiverses for.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“I'm so glad I found you, I'm not gonna lose you. Whatever it takes, I will stay here with you.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Bart’s cape swished back and forth as they traveled in circles across the floor. Jaime brushed a strand out of Bart’s face. </p><p>“We’re getting pretty good at this,” Jaime said.</p><p>Bart giggled. “Must be those kitchen practice sessions.” <em> All the more reason to stay. </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>“Take it to the good times, see it through the bad times. Whatever it takes is what I'm gonna do.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Jaime twirled Bart under his arm. The cape billowed like a parachute, but it felt less like falling and more like flying with a brand new pair of wings. Bart spun out and back in. Their faces were only a foot apart as they stepped in time to the fast-paced rhythm. </p><p>
  <b> <em>“Let 'em say we're crazy. What do they know? Put your arms around me, baby, don't ever let go.”</em> </b>
</p><p>“What do you wanna do after this?” Jaime asked.</p><p>Bart shrugged. “Get food, save the DC universe, maybe catch that midnight <em> Frankenstein </em>showing. You?”</p><p>Jaime pulled Bart closer by the waist. “I agree—this place needs better catering. How about tacos?”</p><p>“Tacos sound good.”</p><p>
  <b> <em>“Let the world around us just fall apart. Baby, we can make it if we're heart to heart.”</em> </b>
</p><p>The dip was unexpected. His heart skipped a beat when Jaime placed a finger under his chin.</p><p>“How do you say <em> ‘that was hot as hell’ </em> in Spanish?”</p><p>
  <b> <em>“And we can build this dream together, standing strong forever. Nothing's gonna stop us now.”</em> </b>
</p><p>Their foreheads touched. Though the beat didn’t slow, their bodies did. They swayed in sync like two fish drifting along the currents. Bart never thought he’d appreciate slowing down. But that was before he met Jaime. Before he realized how breathtaking the still and silence could be. More breathtaking than any stellar scene his previous universe offered.</p><p>
  <b> <em>“And if this world runs out of lovers, we'll still have each other. Nothing's gonna stop us—”</em> </b>
</p><p>“Bart?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Bart smiled softly. “I love you too.”</p><p>
  <b> <em>“—nothing's gonna stop us now.”</em> </b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:<br/>• Cariño = sweetheart<br/>• Ese = dude<br/>• Abuela = grandmother<br/>• Amor = love<br/>• Dios mío = oh my God<br/>• Odio verte con dolor = I hate seeing you in pain</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaime half-expected the Halloween party to drain him completely, but after hopping out of the shower and tossing the Blue Beetle costume into a storage bin, he never felt for energized in his life—which was not something most people wanna feel at eleven PM, but worked splendidly for him and Bart. It meant they had the energy to fix the story while the idea was still fresh in their minds.</p><p>As soon as Bart saw Jaime, his eyes lit up. He sat cross-legged in the center of the bed with a tattered scarlet suit draped across his lap. “You still got your grandma’s sewing kit, right?”</p><p>“It’s in the closet, yeah,” Jaime said. “But shouldn’t we make sure the portal <em>works </em>before jumping in? What if we end up in a whole different timeline? Then we wouldn’t be any use to the story.”</p><p>Bart thought for a second. “You’re right. I have an idea.”</p><p>He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bag of pistachios.</p><p>Jaime crossed his arms. “Let me guess, you can’t work on an empty stomach.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Bart said, cracking one open and tossing it into his mouth, “but that’s not what I meant.”</p><p>He opened the Hawkman book to the page with the portal. Jaime leaped behind Bart as a door-like rift appeared in the middle of the room.</p><p>“Relax, babe, it’s not gonna bite,” Bart said. “If Superstring Theory is correct in that there are eleven dimensions of the multiverse and that the strings propagate through time and interact with one another—”</p><p>“Bart.”</p><p>“Right, sorry.” He backtracked. “Basically, all universes are connected by interdimensional strings that intersect like roads, and it’s most likely rifts form at these intersections. You following?”</p><p>Jaime nodded.</p><p>“My hunch is we can move individual portals to different points in the multiverse and travel to where we need. But we won’t know for sure unless we test it out.”</p><p>He tossed a pistachio into the portal. As soon as it disappeared, he flipped the page. On the ground in the following panels was an intact pistachio that definitely wasn’t there before. </p><p>Bart flipped back and ripped the portal page out of the book. “Babe, can you grab the Scotch tape, please? And while you’re at it, also get the sewing kit, a pair of scissors, Milagro’s sticker maker, your other comics, and the drawing I gave you.”</p><p>Jaime did as instructed, placing the pile on the bed. Bart pulled a Green Lantern comic from the top of the stack and opened it to a random page with the characters in space. He tore an inch of tape from the dispenser. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he attached the page to the new story. Chin resting in his hands, Jaime drank in the sight. Each move Bart made emitted purpose and intelligence like a satellite signal. </p><p>Bart tied his hair in a ponytail and tossed Jaime a pistachio. “If you’ll do us the honors.”</p><p>Jaime blinked. He was so busy watching Bart he didn’t even notice a portal open again. There was a moment of hesitation before he tossed the pistachio into the black hole. </p><p>He couldn’t help but snicker as a lone pistachio appeared next to Hal Jordan’s lantern. “Does this mean it works?”</p><p>“Pretty much, but just to be sure…”</p><p>Bart opened a Batman comic and moved the portal. He threw a pistachio in. This time, the comic showed it falling from the Batcave ceiling and bouncing off the black cowl. </p><p>“You just wanted to throw it at Batman, didn’t you?”</p><p>“… Maybe. Hey, at least we know it works.”</p><p>“Good,” Jaime said. “Now all we gotta do is gear up.”</p><p>Bart grinned. “I got you covered, babe. Can you hand me the sticker maker and a post-it note?”</p><p>“You should really give it back to Milagro,” Jaime said. “Last time I borrowed something and never gave it back, she put a pregnant spider under my pillow. I had to buy a new bed.”</p><p>Bart tilted his head. “Can spiders get pregnant?” </p><p>“That depends on how to define pregnancy. Technically, it <em>is </em>carrying babies even if they’re unhatched and—wait, why are we talking about this? We need to focus.”</p><p>“Right. I was thinking we paste the Blue Beetle suit into the comic so you can help me.”</p><p>“Sounds awesome,” said Jaime. “And I’m gonna patch up your suit ‘cause there’s no way I’m letting my partner go around looking like the Walking Dead.”</p><p>They got to work—Bart redefining the features on the old drawing to fit the comic, and Jaime looking up sewing tutorials on YouTube.</p><p>As he stitched up a tear beneath the lightning logo, he asked, “You nervous?”</p><p>Bart shaded a section of the armor. “Hella.”</p><p>Jaime slipped his hand in Bart’s. “Me too.”</p><p>One hour, several pinpricks, and a mountain of eraser shavings yielded two just-like-new superhero costumes. While Bart slipped into the bathroom to change, Jaime traced his thumb over the <em> Fastest Man Alive </em>cover. And it hit him: he was really gonna enter the story. He was going to be a <em> hero</em>. The thought made his stomach churn in all different ways. </p><p>Bart jogged back in full costume. “Ready?”</p><p>“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Jaime slipped his gun in his jacket and took Bart’s hand in both of his. “Let’s hope this plan works.”</p><p>Bart placed his other hand on Jaime’s face. “Everything will be okay.”</p><p>With the help of the sticker maker, he pasted the cut-out Blue Beetle drawing on the cover. Then, he flipped the comic to a page inside the force field bubble and taped the portal in. The rift opened. </p><p>“Wait, why did you need the post-it?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“For this.” Bart slipped a rolled-up yellow slip into Jaime’s shirt pocket. “Consider it a good luck charm.”</p><p>“B-but now I gotta get you one,” Jaime said.</p><p>Bart placed a kiss on Jaime’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I already got mine.”</p><p>Jaime closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Fingers laced together, the two stepped through the portal.</p><p>When Jaime opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the sky discolored yellow. The smell of smoke lingered in the hot air. Everything was quiet. <em> Chaotically </em>quiet.</p><p>The second thing he noticed was a bright blue exoskeleton standing in front of him like a storefront mannequin. White light glinted off the intricate plating. Each line and nook looked as though a Renaissance artist sculpted it. </p><p>Bart nudged him. “Go on, it’s all yours.”</p><p>Jaime’s fingertips brushed the cool metal. He gasped as it wrapped around him with a mind of its own. Translucent wings extended from between his shoulders, lifting his feet off the ground. A circuit switched on in his head and a robotic spoke.</p><p>
  <b>[Calibrating to new host…]</b>
</p><p>“Way freaking cool,” Jaime said, examining himself. </p><p>“I did some research on Dan Garrett’s scarab,” said Bart. “Apparently he wasn’t the right host so his powers were limited and no one was sure what the scarab was capable of, so I drew some ideas from your fanfics.”</p><p>The faceplate retracted. Jaime touched the ground. It took everything in him not to squeal like a little girl. “<em>Dios</em>, this is a dream come true. You’re the best, Bart!”</p><p>“This is all you,” Bart said. “It’s your brain-baby.”</p><p>
  <b>[Calibration complete. Greetings, Jaime Reyes. I am Khaji Da, your Blue Beetle scarab.]</b>
</p><p>Bart checked the time and pulled his mask over his face. “It’s time. You remember the plan?”</p><p>Jaime nodded. </p><p>They silently snuck around the library until he spotted two figured through a ceiling-high feature window.</p><p>“Khaji Da, can you do a scan?”</p><p>
  <b>[I have identified the occupants as Inertia and Abra Kadabra.]</b>
</p><p>“Just like canon,” Jaime said.</p><p>“Careful around Kadabra,” Bart said. “Your suit’s susceptible to magic.”</p><p>While Thaddeus Thawne berated his self-aware minion, Jaime patiently waited for Bart’s signal. One hand motion was all he needed.</p><p>A plasma cannon formed around Jaime’s arm. An explosion of crystals tore through the air. The villains’ heads whipped toward him and Bart.</p><p>Inertia scowled at Bart. “I saw what was going to happen. You were supposed to be alone!”</p><p>“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not good at doing what I’m <em>supposed </em>to,” Bart said. “This is your last chance to power off the machine and turn yourself in.”</p><p>Inertia scoffed. “Kadabra, take care of this… <em> bug</em>. Leave my cowardly clone to me.”</p><p>If it weren’t for the scarab, Abra Kadabra’s spell beam would’ve struck Jaime right in the chest. But the suit acted on its own and he rolled away. The plasma cannon transformed into a staple gun and he aimed one at the villain. Kadabra deflected it.</p><p>A few feet away, Bart brawled it out with his clone. Only Bart could keep up with Inertia’s speed, so Jaime focused back on his opponent.</p><p>His other arm produced a sonic cannon. A deafeningly high pitch rang through the air. Bookshelves rattled until its contents fell to the floor. A vase shattered.</p><p>Kadabra clutched his ears. “Who <em> are </em> you?!?”</p><p>Jaime blew on the cannon. “The name’s Blue Beetle, but you can call me your worst nightmare.”</p><p>“You gotta work on your taglines, babe,” Bart said, narrowly avoiding Inertia’s kick.</p><p>“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I needed one so I didn’t really plan it,” said Jaime. “I’d give that a C grade.”</p><p>Kadabra grinned wickedly. “So the Flash brought his lover into the fray? Well, I just figured out how to take two birds with one stone.” </p><p>He pointed his gem lapel at Jaime. The Hypno-Ray’s power into the control center of his brain. Jaime felt Khaji Da push against it like a door. His skull pounded.</p><p>“No, get out!” He smacked his helmet repeatedly. “<em>Getoutgetoutgetout—</em>”</p><p>“Why would I do that when tearing you apart sounds like more fun?” Kadabra asked. “Let’s see… Blue Beetle, why don’t you tell your lover what you really think of him?”</p><p>“No!” Jaime exclaimed. “I would never!”</p><p>“I’m not giving you a choice. Tell us the <em> worst thing </em> about the Flash.”</p><p>Hard as he pushed, the hypnotic hex slipped its fingers through the cracks. Jaime's mouth opened.</p><p>“<em>The dishes</em>.”</p><p>All parties stopped, confused.</p><p>“The what now?” Bart asked.</p><p>“You put the dishes in the dishwasher weird and I always have to redo it when you’re not looking,” Jaime said. </p><p>“<em>Gah!</em>” Kadabra released his grip. “<em>Useless!</em>”</p><p>Jaime seized the chance to land a left hook on Kadabra’s head. Kadabra crumpled, but before he could hit the ground a pair of staples pinned him to the drywall.</p><p>Another voice spoke. “Damnit, I wanted the grand entrance.”</p><p>Standing among the shattered window remains were the rest of the Rogues—Captain Cold, Pied Piper, Mirror Master, Heat Wave, Trickster, and Weather Wizard.</p><p>“Inertia didn’t tell us we were having company,” said Heat Wave. </p><p>Bart zipped past Jaime. “I’ll get Thad. Can you handle these guys?”</p><p>“I think so,” Jaime said. “I’ve memorized their character sheets. I know their weaknesses.”</p><p>“Be careful,” Bart said. “I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p>Jaime turned to the Rogue army. Wings folded out, he clenched his jaw with renewed intrepidity. </p><p>“Listen here, you <em>hijos de cabronas</em>. If you want the Flash, you’re gonna have to go through me!”</p><p>Captain Cold cackled. “Lookie here, boys, we got ourselves a macho man.”</p><p>“Let’s see if his bite measures up to his bark,” said Weather Wizard.</p><p>
  <b>[Scanning opponents…]</b>
</p><p>Pied Piper brought his flute to his lips and blew a shrill note. </p><p>Jaime fired his sonic cannon. “You’re not the only one with fancy sound tech, <em> Hartley Rathaway</em>.”</p><p>The name drop caught Piper off guard, and frequency forced him to his knees. </p><p>Jaime snatched the flute and crushed it underfoot. “You should’ve stuck to reform.”</p><p>Tricker’s jaw dropped. “Who is he? How the hell did he know that?”</p><p>“Does it matter?” asked Captain Cold. “Just <em> get him</em>.”</p><p>One of Trickster’s rings ensnared Jaime’s wrists like handcuffs. A flying kick to the stomach sent Jaime to the ground.</p><p>“Now <em> that’s </em> a showstopper!”</p><p>The ring shattered with blue laser beams shooting out in all directions. “You gotta tone down the flair, <em> James Jesse</em>. Or more accurately…” A tendril struck Trickster’s jaw like a whip, knocking him out cold. “<em>Giovanni Giuseppe</em>, the guy with the glass jaw who can’t take a punch.”</p><p>“Hey, Know-It-All!” a voice called.</p><p>Jaime whipped his head around but couldn’t trace the source. “Who said that?”</p><p>“Down here.”</p><p>Jaime looked down to find Mirror Master staring back from inside the gleaming chest plate. Mirror Master leaped out and struck him with an uppercut. Jaime stumbled back, eyes watering. </p><p>The scarab took over. Twin tendrils snaked around Mirror Master’s ankles. They hurled him into a bookshelf. The entire thing toppled over him.</p><p>
  <em> “Three down, three to go. Thanks for having my back, ese.” </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[It is my pleasure.]</b>
</p><p>His vision cleared in time to see the remaining Rogues charge at him. They let loose… </p><p>with fire—</p><p>Heat Wave’s inferno seeped through the armor cracks and prickled Jaime’s skin like a hundred thumbtacks stabbing through his flesh.</p><p>—and ice—</p><p>He fell to his knees as his legs frosted over at the mercy of Captain Cold’s absolute zero blast. Once again, the scarab took the brunt, but it still <em>burned</em>.</p><p>—and lightning—</p><p>A white-hot bolt struck between his shoulders. He screamed as electricity coursed through the armor’s crevices and into his veins. Jaime swallowed the bile in his throat and forced himself to his feet despite everything screaming for him to stand down. </p><p>
  <b>[My sensors are malfunctioning. I am sorry, Jaime Reyes.]</b>
</p><p>
  <em> “Then we’ll have to do things the human way.” </em>
</p><p>His battle cry was all-encompassing. It was rage at the Rogues for damaging his scarab. It was courage built brick by brick since the fateful day universes collided and changed his life. It was <em>love. </em> Love so strong that the thought of failing and losing Bart hurt more than all the wounds on Jaime’s body.</p><p>He slammed Captain Cold through a table. The scarab’s shield landed an uppercut to Heat Wave’s diaphragm with a sickeningly satisfying crack. Jaime snatched Weather Wizard’s wand. </p><p>“How ‘bout a taste of your medicine, <em> Mark Mardon?</em>”</p><p>With a wrist flick, a gust of wind picked Weather Wizard up and dunked him in the duck pond outside. Jaime snapped the wand in half.</p><p>Air seeped through the armor’s growing cracks. The wings beat once, twice, three times before giving up and drooping like decaying branches. Where Khaji Da’s voice once was, there was radio silence. </p><p>Cursing, Jaime let the armor fall away, its heavy parts landing among the rubble-strewn grass as he sprinted toward the direction of the machine. </p><p>The device looked like something out of a sci-fi video game. Twin prongs protruded from the top of a titanium tower. His hairs stood up straight as the cloud of static electricity drew denser. He tossed aside the last armor fragments and ran to where two women—one old and one young—stood in front of an open panel.</p><p>Jaime clutched his side, catching his breath. “How long until this thing goes off?”</p><p>The younger woman turned to him. “Who are you?”</p><p>“Jaime Reyes. Long story short, I’m Bart’s partner and I’m here to help y’all stop this thing.”</p><p>“Bart’s what?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Valerie Perez—I guess you can call me the local quantum physics expert here.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, I remember you.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing,” he said. “If I remembered correctly, Inertia didn’t put an on/off switch ‘cause he didn’t think he needed one. The only question is, does Bart’s body still hold the Speed Force? Because if not, it renders the machine useless and there’s no threat.”</p><p>The older woman—<em>Iris West</em>, Jaime’s brain supplied—crossed her arms. “I think it’s best we don’t find out.”</p><p>“I’m not too familiar with temporal theory, but I know my machines,” Valerie said. “If we rewire it internally, we can create a manual override.” She pointed at Jaime. “Can you redirect the main circuit away from the main energy-sapping mechanism?”</p><p>“<em>I’m a dentist’s assistant</em>.”</p><p>The tower had three small dumbwaiter-like crawl spaces. Leading to one of them was the melting remnants of Captain Cold’s ice slide. Iris tossed a pair of communicators to Valerie, who tossed one to Jaime.</p><p>“I need you to climb up and tell me what you see,” she said. “I’ll walk you through the instructions. Can you do that?”</p><p>He looked from the communicator to Valerie and Iris to the one-on-one battle raging on the other end of the force field. Jaime slipped the device into his ear. </p><p>The tangle of rods and beams made climbing up easier than he thought. Even so, it was far from simple. The tower vibrated like a washing machine and felt hot to the touch, like a stovetop. He pulled his sleeve over his hands, but that did next to nothing to protect his palms from the burns. The ice ramp was so thin it shattered when he tried to use it as a handhold. Glassy shards rained down, but he refused to look at the ground.</p><p>He hoisted himself onto the not-burning platform and put a finger to his comm. “I’m in.”</p><p>“Tell me what you see.”</p><p>At the end of the dumbwaiter were a nest of thick colored wires connected by flexible copper tabs. Each one is connected to a numbered port. They all met at two black boxes, which Jaime assumed were the batteries. He relayed it to Valerie.</p><p>“Disconnect the red wire from the power source and remove the conductor tab,” she said.</p><p>Jaime did as he was told, wincing when it sent a spark through his finger.</p><p>“Now remove the blue wire from port E0—keep the tab. After that, you want to connect it to the red wire.”</p><p>“What about the rest?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“The purple wire’s connected to the red one, right? I need you to separate them—you might have to snip it.”</p><p>Jaime looked around for a cutting tool. “How? I don’t have anything.”</p><p>“Improvise.”</p><p>Right. Improvise. Bart’s specialty. What would he do?</p><p>Jaime picked up the card-sized metal tab and sliced through the junction.</p><p>“Now you just need to rewire some cables from,” Valerie said. “Do them in the <em> exact order </em> I give you.”</p><p>Though she couldn’t see him, he nodded. </p><p>“Orange to R3. Black to S1. Yellow to W2, the <em>other </em>red and yellow to F2 and F3, respectively. Everything else, you can unplug from the power source, and the green one you can toss out entirely.”</p><p>Sweat rolled down his neck. An overwhelming sense of time running out filled the pit of his gut. His fingers worked robotically, as though the scarab was still there to suppress the shakiness. </p><p>“Last thing: move the connected red-and-blue wire from the primary power source to the secondary one.”</p><p>The cables snapped in place. Sparks flew. Jaime took it as a signal to hightail out of there. He slid down a rod like a firefighter. </p><p>He, Valerie, and Iris scrambled back as white chemical steam erupted through the cracks. The machine rattled and sputtered. Jaime thought the thing was going to explode.</p><p>But the override <em>worked</em>. It powered down with a low-pitched hum. The blinking lights faded to darkness. </p><p>Valerie’s hand flew to her mouth. “We did it!”</p><p>Jaime wasn’t focused on victory, though. Not yet. He traced the sound of fighting to the middle of the lawn. </p><p>Though both Bart and Inertia retained their super speed, they stood at a stalemate. </p><p>Inertia’s fist charged with lightning. His snake-like shadow slinked across the ground with every slow step. “Coming from the future, you know there’s only one way this will end. Surrender yourself and I might make this painless for you and your pesky bug.”</p><p>Jaime couldn’t swallow the déjà vu feeling crawling at the back of his mind. Instinctively, he reached into his jacket.</p><p>Tangled copper locks fell in front of Bart’s face. “You stay the hell away from my Blue!”</p><p>Inertia sneered. “How cute, trying to protect your little lover. In that case, I’ll take full joy in watching him grieve over your corpse.”</p><p>
  <em> BANG! </em>
</p><p>Clutching his knee, Inertia hit the ground howling. Jaime lowered the smoking gun.</p><p>Bart sped over. He rambled at a hundred miles an hour as he examined Jaime’s injuries. “CrapIshouldn’thaveletyoufightandnowyou’rehurtbecauseofmeand—”</p><p>“Bart.” Jaime placed a finger on the speedster’s lips. “I’ll be fine. I helped the ladies deactivate the machine. It’s over, <em> amor</em>. We won.”</p><p>“We saved the city.” Bart placed a hand on Jaime’s face. “You… saved my life.”</p><p>Jaime scratched the back of his head. “That was kinda the objective.”</p><p>Bart leaped forward. Jaime barely had enough time to catch him before their lips collided. The empty gun hit the ground as his arms draped loosely over Bart’s shoulders. His eyes slid shut, not because they were supposed to, but because they knew it was <em>safe </em>to. Salty sweat mingled with the taste of Bart’s sweet bubblegum chapstick. He noted the faint scent of tropical fruit shampoo. Through a hole in Bart’s glove, callused yet soft skin borne from long workdays and relaxing evenings traced Jaime’s cheekbone. Bart’s mere presence subdued the jitterbugs in Jaime’s stomach. They’re here. They’re okay. </p><p>They pulled apart as footsteps rapidly approached but didn’t take their eyes off each other. Jaime removed the cowl for Bart to get a better look at those sunshine eyes. He tucked a flyaway strand behind Bart’s ear. Bart rested his forehead against Jaime’s.</p><p>“Bart!” Iris called. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”</p><p>He pulled her into a hug. “I missed you, Grandma. You won’t <em> believe </em> the year I had.”</p><p>Her eyes traveled to Jaime, who couldn’t do anything besides wave awkwardly. “I think I can. What did you say your name was again?”</p><p>“Jaime. Jaime Reyes.”</p><p>“That’s a nice name,” she said. “It suits you. Just like how you two suited each other at the boardwalk.”</p><p>They shared a collective nostalgic laugh.</p><p>Valerie put her hands on her hips. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”</p><p>Bart took a deep breath. “I was in another dimension. I didn’t want to come back ‘cause otherwise I’d be dead right now. That’s why I didn’t take up Grandma’s offer the first time.”</p><p>There was a pained expression on her face. “That’s not all, is it?”</p><p>He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I lost my powers, but it’s not so bad. I got a job. I made new friends. I…” He glanced at Jaime, then back at Valerie. “I know you wanted us to work, but sometimes things aren’t meant to be just because they happen.”</p><p>She pursed her lips. “Are you happy?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Then I’m happy for you.” Her smile was a strained one.</p><p>He tilted his head. “You alright?”</p><p>“Honestly, this is a lot to process and it’s all so sudden after everything that’s happened, so no,” she said. “But I will be, in due time. That’s how life works, isn’t it?”</p><p>Bart sighed softly and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a great girl, Val. I hope you find someone who can give you everything you deserve.”</p><p>“And I wish you the best of luck.” She nodded at Jaime. “Both of you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jaime said. “<em>Dios</em>, talking to fictional characters never gets easier, does it?”</p><p>Bart placed a peck on Jaime’s cheek. “Guess it’s time to go home.”</p><p>“Wait,” Iris said. “I hate to be that person, but wouldn’t you leaving cause a permanent shift in our universe?”</p><p>“I thought about that,” Bart said, “which is why I came up with a plan that works for everyone.”</p><p>Jaime pretend-gasped. “A plan? Who are you and what have you done to the love of my life?”</p><p>Bart laughed. “Still here, babe.” </p><p>He plucked the sticky note from Jaime’s shirt pocket.</p><p>“The good luck charm?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Precisely.” Bart unfurled it to reveal a messy pen sketch of a hybrid logo composed of a midnight blue scarab and a crimson lightning bolt. “I think it’s time for a reboot.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:<br/>• Dios = God<br/>• Hijos de cabronas = sons of bitches<br/>• Ese = dude<br/>• Amor = love</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve got eyes on the target. Six vans headed Northwest toward the LexCorp compound,” Red Robin said. “Team, what’s your status?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve got eyes from the sky,” said Wonder Girl. “They should arrive at the warehouses in about six minutes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right on schedule.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m detecting about thirty people—mostly low-level henchman—and a shipment of some sketchy chemicals,” Superboy said. “Also, Impulse, I can hear your stomach growling from a mile away.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That wasn’t me…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lo siento, that was me. Scarab’s got a high metabolism.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red Robin cut in. “Blue Beetle, what’s yours and Impulse’s statuses?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue Beetle said, “Currently scouting the loading bay. No sign of activity.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Copy that. Remain on standby until my signal.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse switched off his comm. As he leaned against the wind-weathered striped stone pillar, he uselessly kicked the orange dust off his soles. The canyon opened its mouth like the river it once was. Had it not been for his encyclopedic geology knowledge, he would’ve brushed the sulfur smell off as part of the land rather than Bad Guys™ manufacturing Bad Things™ in a Bad Building™. Blue Beetle’s scarab gave off just enough warmth to stave off the creeping cold. The blazing marigold sky highlighted the sapphire plating like melted oil pastels.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He cleared his throat. “So, Blue, any plans after this?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nope.” Blue Beetle kept his eyes on his binoculars.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You wanna grab pizza after this?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The scarab—Khaji Da, it liked to be called—chirped. Blue Beetle rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if it’s unhealthy, I’m not giving up pizza for you, tonto.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can only assume you’re talking to the bug?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He wants to put me on this strict workout diet,” Blue Beetle said. “To which I say, ‘go screw yourself’.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse shifted. “Also, wanna catch a movie if we finish early? I heard there’s a new Jumanji.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue tilted his head. “Why’re you acting so jittery?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stomach flipping, Impulse switched to fiddling with his crimson glove. He laughed nervously. “Pre-battle nerves?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue Beetle placing a hand on his arm didn’t help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Relax, ese. It’s just our run-of-the-mill warehouse raid. We’ll be fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse gulped. “Yeah.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crickets sang. In the distance, a coyote howled at the rising half moon. As long as Impulse stayed under the sandstone canopy with Blue, nothing could touch him. The fourteen-year-old really shouldn’t hold out hope with the two-year age gap, but something about leaning against the gently vibrating armor felt right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue tuned back into the team’s discussion, motioning for Impulse to turn his earpiece back on. Ideally, they’d have no interruptions, but alas, they were on a mission.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse barely caught Red Robin’s “move in” before Blue Beetle’s armored hands scooped him up by the armpits.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can run,” he said.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you’d been listening, you’d know this place is littered with mines,” said Blue. “What am I gonna do with you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Declare your undying devotion to me in a high-stakes situation and save the world through the power of love?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe next volume.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wonder Girl shattered the skylight for them, golden lasso at the ready like a cowgirl rounding up her steer. A grappling gun lowered Red Robin from an opening in the vent. A semicircle of AK’s trained on them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue dropped Impulse into the middle of the squadron like an infiltrator. Impulse’s feet hit the ground. He made no haste in weaving through the line of Luthor’s minions, catching bullets and speed-punching the henchmen into next Saturday. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue Beetle bombarded the battalion with blindingly bright beams. Impulse backed up until he felt the scarab’s rounded edge brush his shoulder blade.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He intercepted another round. “Where’s Superboy?!?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The garage door burst down so suddenly he mistook it for an explosion. Turns out, it’s just a leather-clad Kryptonian carrying a donut in his mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’d I miss?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’ll talk about this later.” Red Robin pole-vaulted and slammed his foot in a guy’s chest. “Cover me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Superboy held on to his donut as he laser-pierced the armored convoys’ tires. Red Robin knocked one more guy out cold with the tip of his staff before swing around to the rattling ceiling-high boilers shooting hot chemical steam through the cracks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse focused back on his own fight. The circle of minions drew tighter, forcing him and Blue closer. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Commence Operation Yeet?” Impulse asked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do you enjoy it so much?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why wouldn’t I?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With an exasperated sigh, Blue Beetle scooped up the vibrating speedster and launched him at the henchmen. Impulse tucked his knees in. He struck the henches’ formation head-on like a bowling ball—if bowling balls were charged with thousands of volts of electricity. His feet hit the ground and he slid to a stop a few dozen feet away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That. Was. Awesome!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“In that case, I hope you’re down for Round Two.” Blue Beetle pointed at the gaggle surrounding Superboy and Wonder Girl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just like before, Blue Beetle scooped Impulse up. The latter’s stomach flipped as the bug’s wings extended and they achieved liftoff. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ready?” Blue asked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse nodded. “Yeet me!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He hit the ground like a lightning strike, sending bad guys flying every which way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wonder Girl rolled her eyes as she took a man out with an uppercut. “RR’s almost done, prepare for extraction.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Impulse said, “So, Blue, about that pizza—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ese, focus.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red Robin leaped into Superboy’s arms. “This place is gonna blow!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue Beetle wrapped an arm around Impulse’s waist. They zoom the same skylight from before, only this time while weaving through bullets shooting out like hot magma. A fiery plume engulfed the warehouse. The higher they soared, the cooler the air grew.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Superboy pouted. “You made me leave my donut.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red Robin scoffed. “Yeah, to save your life.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But I’m indestructible!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wonder Girl said, “You guys sound like Impulse and Blue.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blue Beetle maneuvered his arm to carry Impulse more comfortably. Impulse draped his arms over Blue Beetle’s shoulders—in a platonic way, of course; this was only their debut issue. The stars grew brighter as the warehouse fire faded into the horizon, and flashing blue-and-red lights raced down the single-lane road toward the scene.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red Robin coughed awkwardly. “Nightwing said I need to be less like Batman in terms of team camaraderie so, uh… nice job back there. He also told me to say ‘Titans, go!’ like he used to, but I’m not doing that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where to next?” Blue Beetle asked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pizza?” said Impulse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Superboy perked up. “Ooh, I love me some pizza.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“To the tower then?” Blue asked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Doi,” said Impulse. “Where else would we go?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:<br/>• Lo siento = I’m sorry<br/>• Tonto = silly/foolish/crazy<br/>• Ese = dude</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Jaime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “I’ll race you to the top!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart took off up the grassy hill overlooking the sprawling city, his flowing tangerine skirt collecting dawn’s dewdrops at the hem. A gentle breeze skewed the copper side-part, revealing stippled freckles like the pointillist painting they saw in the museum the other day. The sun was a coin resting in a toy machine slot. Robins chirped. Lilac shadows stretched as the watercolor rays kissed every surface. Crimson tulips opened their palms to the sky, welcoming Mother Nature’s nourishment and Father Time's new opportunity.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A fondly tilted smile adorned Jaime’s face. “That’s not a fair contest seeing as I’m holding the basket.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll hold it when we go down,” Bart said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But then it’ll be lighter.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Or can make it lighter right now.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Then what’s the point of a picnic?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Despite being halfway up, Bart jogged back and slipped his hand in Jaime’s free one. The homemade earrings Asami gave him danced like wind chimes with every bounce. Jaime let Bart lead the way, largely because it was Bart’s idea—Jaime just made the food. He didn’t even mind waking up before sunup, because it meant another adventure together. Another story for the folks at home. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaime spent his life believing adventures came to heroes with extraordinary abilities, and everyone else was doomed to be a nameless extra. But that was before. Before the late-night laundromat runs when there were no more clean sheets. Before the inside jokes. Before reading by firelight with his hand resting on his lover’s chest like a canary returning to its nest. Before he put a meaning to the definition of love. Before someone came along and gave him a reason to write that meaning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart rolled out the checkered blanket at the base of the lone oak at the top of the hill. Jaime set the Tupperwares like a luxury tasting platter, even if it was just scrambled eggs and Pillsbury biscuits. He stole a sip from the coffee thermos before handing it to Bart.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Nice view, isn’t it?” Bart asked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaime, eyes not leaving Bart, hummed in agreement. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart laughed. “I know what you’re doing, you big cheese ball.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What? I’m just enjoying the view.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Indeed, Apollo’s golden light didn’t hold a flame to the radiance sitting before Jaime. He nuzzled his nose in the crook of Bart’s neck, and the latter let out a mix between a pig snort and hyena cackle. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Still ticklish, I see.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No fair, you used my weakness against me!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “All’s fair in love and—OOMPH!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ten stones of ex-speedster slammed into him. Jaime tasted the sweet perfume of mountain grass as they rolled down. Bart’s hair fanned out against the grass, each auburn lock weaving through the blades like a river of lava and rubies.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaime giggled. “What would I do without you?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “For starters, you’d be walking around all day with this.” Bart plucked a gray feather out of Jaime’s tackle-mussed hair.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He brushed the tip against Jaime’s nose. Jaime sneezed. When he opened his eyes, the feather had morphed into a brush. Bart’s skirt was now a pair of splattered overalls with a matching rainbow bandana pulling his hair out of his face. The picnic hill disappeared, and instead, they stood around a mailbox in front of a suburban townhouse. An unread newspaper waited on the front steps despite the sun positioned directly above them. A kitten napped on the windowsill. And Jaime had his foot in a paint can. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He cursed in Spanish. Bart threw his head back. Jaime could help the soft smile creeping on his cheeks, as though he’d do it again just to hear that laugh (and he would without hesitation).  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hand resting on the mailbox, he asked, “When did the window guy say he was coming?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart shrugged. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Come on, we can get our room done in the meantime.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tucked the supplies under his arm. Jaime lifted his hand. Whorled prints in cobalt blue took shape of a palm and five fingers on the wooden mailbox. He didn’t even know he had paint on his hand. Panic rose through his chest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “That’s not a bad idea.” Bart dipped his hand in red paint and slapped it on the side, his fingertips overlapping Jaime’s. He added a yellow peak with a few delicate brush strokes. “We’re like two turkeys in a pod.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaime snorted. “I’ve never heard of a blue turkey.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “They’re out there somewhere,” Bart said. “It’s my face cannon.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Headcanon,” Jaime said. “And that’s not how they work.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It is now.” Bart stuck out his tongue like a five-year-old.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He laced his fingers with Jaime’s, blending the colors into a stunning royal violet.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Together, they made their way to an empty would-be master bedroom. Sunlight and a warm breeze flowed through an open window. X-shaped pieces of tape marked where the corners of their bed, nightstand, and dresser will be. An empty closet laid wide open. Spare planks leaned against a bare wall from when they did the floors yesterday, next to a red toolbox. The smell of sawdust hung in the air. Jaime moved said planks, leaving blue fingerprints along the edges, before tying his moth-eaten sweatshirt to his waist. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart faced the wall behind the bed. “I’m thinking this can be our feature wall—JL in the foreground, Titans on the left, Young Justice on the right.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We can have Red Hood lurking in the back,” Jaime said, wiping his hands on a rag. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And he’s pointing a gun at the alarm.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaime pulled up a reference photo on an iPad. Bart dipped a roller into a tray of white paint and climbed on the step stool. How his life raft feet fit on the same step, Jaime did not know. While Bart did the left side, Jaime worked from the right, painting to the tempo of their Spotify playlist. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Paint fumes quickly filled the space. The sun inched across the sky as they added to the mural color by color, shape by detailed shape. Bart definitely had the artist’s eye as he guided Jaime’s hand in painting the squashed diamond of Superman’s crest; Jaime’s heart, even after all this time, fluttered at the soft touch. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s looking great,” Bart said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m thinking adding a trail of lightning behind the Flash.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mhm.” Jaime didn’t take his eyes off his lover, mesmerized by chapstick-tinted pink lips moving so fast they were almost impossible to keep up with. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart paused. “I’m gonna buy a tiger and start a circus.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sounds great.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He playfully whacked Jaime with a rag. “Hey, I’m more than just a piece of ass.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know, mi querido.” Jaime planted a kiss on Bart’s temple.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The song changed to a familiar tune he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He offered his hand. Bart’s slipped in perfectly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When Bart twirled, his overalls transformed into an elegant scarlet gown. The brush behind his ear turned into a matching blossoming rose. The half-painted walls fell like stage sets, giving way to a twilight sky resembling an infinite ballroom ceiling. Grass sprouted beneath their feet. Jaime glanced down to find himself in a matching crimson tux. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He cleared his throat and offered his hand. “May I have this dance?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’d be honored.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their fingers wove together. Jaime rested his hand on Bart’s waist, and Bart placed a hand on Jaime’s shoulders.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And they floated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If the feeling was a carnival food, it’d be cotton candy. If it was a day, it’d be a tranquil Sunday morning with next week’s worries a mere silhouette in the distant horizon. If it was the first footstep in fresh snow; the first rain of summer; the first time singing off-tune and dancing wildly to the songs that made him cry in middle school.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bart reeled Jaime in. Lips pressed against candy lips, Jaime melted right into it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They pulled apart but lingered close enough for Jaime to feel the shared warm breath between them. He leaned in again. Their noses brushed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do it again?” he asked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Only if you wake up,” Bart said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Huh?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s time to open your eyes, babe.” </em>
</p><p>Jaime’s eyes fluttered open to a morning lit bedroom. His fingertips traced the stitches on a quilt, following a bee from its hive to a daffodil meadow. He rolled over to meet a pair of sunshine irises gazing softly at him.</p><p>“Morning, babe.” Bart pressed his lips against Jaime’s. “As promised for waking up.” </p><p>Jaime hummed, smiling. “<em>Buenos días</em>, Fastest Man Alive.”</p><p>“I told you, I’m not a hero anymore,” Bart said.</p><p>“You are to me.”</p><p>Bart giggled. “You always say that.”</p><p>“It’s true.” Too lazy to check his phone, Jaime asked, “What day is it?”</p><p>“Day one thousand and fifty.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes playfully. “I know <em>that</em>. I meant what day of the week is it?”</p><p>“Oh, Monday.” </p><p>Jaime wrapped his arms around Bart’s torso. “Can’t we stay here?”</p><p>“Ain’t that the dream,” said Bart, “but we don’t wanna be late for work.” He planted a kiss on Jaime’s forehead. “I’ll make breakfast. You should take a shower, you’re all greasy.”</p><p>“Greasy and loveable.”</p><p>“Still greasy though.”</p><p>Jaime’s clothes were folded on a swivel chair against the muraled feature wall, next to a Red Robin with the logo painted a slightly off shade of yellow. He tossed the towel over his shoulder, sprinkled some food in the fish tank, and glanced at the calendar.</p><p>Jaime asked loudly, “Bart, did you buy a turkey yet?”</p><p>“It’s in the icebox,” Bart replied from the kitchen, shouting over the electric beater.</p><p>Thanksgiving wasn’t for a few more days, but it never hurt to be thorough—especially since it was their first time hosting. Not that it worried him. They had it in the bag.</p><p>Steam filled the bathroom as he let hot water run over his body, humming brightly under his breath. In the soap tray were multiple mini dessert-shaped soap bars—gifts from Asami, who insisted everyone should “smell pretty”. He picked the cinnamon roll, ’cause Bart had clearly claimed the orange creamsicle, crème brûlée, <em> and </em>honey bun. Now he knew Bart’s secret to smelling like a bakery twenty-four–seven. </p><p>After that, he brushed his teeth, put on his work clothes—a simple graphic t-shirt and jeans with a brown leather jacket—and slicked his wet hair back with a glittery purple hairbrush. On his way downstairs, he grabbed his and Bart’s DC employee IDs. Jaime found his partner twirling around to a Starship song while singing into a batter-coated spoon.</p><p>He wrapped his arms around Bart’s waist and rested his chin on Bart’s shoulder. “Smells great, <em> cariño </em>.”</p><p>Bart closed the waffle maker. “It’s almost done.”</p><p>Mason jars full of candy lined the corner. One had a single lemon drop sitting at the bottom, which Bart snatched up.</p><p>Jaime pouted. “You know those are my favorite.”</p><p>“You want it?” Bart placed it between his teeth. “Come and get it.”</p><p>This wasn’t the first time. Jaime moved a hand to the small of Bart’s back. Teeth clacked slightly as he kissed the candy out of Bart’s mouth.</p><p>“Tastes better like this, anyway,” Jaime said.</p><p>Bart giggled. “Can you grab the mail?”</p><p>“On it.”</p><p>From a mailbox decorated with handprint birds, Jaime grabbed the stack of several regular envelopes and a thick yellow one. He automatically tossed the junk mail as he went back inside and added the electric bill to the beautifully mundane to-do list on the fridge—<em>buy bread, rotate tires, fold laundry, call Brenda, sweep garage, renew Netflix, mend pillowcase, rake leaves, return books, deposit check, fix bike, wash dishes, change lightbulb</em>.</p><p>However, the yellow envelope was what he focused his attention on. He carefully opened it with his pinky nail, heart racing in anticipation.</p><p>It was everything he hoped for and more. The intricate artwork came to life on the glossy pages. Although Jaime knew who said what, his eyes darted across the pages, drinking in every panel as if for the first time, even if it was just the standard desert warehouse mission plot that he oversaw at every step. He flipped back to the cover.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>The Adventures of Impulse and Blue Beetle (vol. 1)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Written by Jaime Reyes</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Illustrated by Bart Allen</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>It took over two years of skill building, advertising, storyboard crafting, and convincing marketing execs to give them a shot, but here they were in a Burbank townhouse twenty minutes from DC headquarters. The fans were on board from the start—discussion boards clamored with life as readers celebrated diversity and creators added their own contributions. He couldn’t contain his squeal as he hugged the comic to his chest like it’s his first child. </p><p>Bart poked his head out of the kitchen. “Is it here?”</p><p>Jaime nodded furiously, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.</p><p> “Can I see?”</p><p>He handed it to Bart, who thumbed through with an approving hum.</p><p>“They look great.” Bart leaned up and placed a peck on Jaime’s lips. “But I think we look better.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations<br/>• Mi querido = my dear<br/>• Buenos días = good morning<br/>• Cariño = sweetheart</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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